Defiled
by xErised
Summary: Voldemort has tasked Draco with a monumental assignment during his 6th year: Not to take Dumbledore's life, but to take Harry Potter's virginity. Complete. HP/DM
1. Trickster's Missionary

**Defiled by xErised**

* * *

_Tricky, tricky, **tricky.**_

Steepling his fingers, he let his gaze drop down the length of the youth's body coolly, appraising him like how an art connoisseur would study a painting to deduce its worth. Slit, dark lanes of calculating red scoured Draco Malfoy critically, taking in his detached and aloof countenance. Draco was dressed completely in black and immaculately-cut clothes with not a single strand of white-blond hair out of place. The eyes of the sixteen-year-old _almost on the cusp of adulthood, but just not yet-_ were half-lidded in deference and focused on the older man's feet.

Lord Voldemort liked what he saw.

Draco's features were elegantly constructed, as refined and chiseled as royalty, his lips bloodless and pressed as thin as the wick of a candle. The blond had conducted himself with a certain distance and dignity, not saying a word, waiting until he was spoken to. Draco's face was a blank slate of neutral painted cream, a pale oval with only a touch of cherry-red in his cheeks giving his nervousness away.

Voldemort tilted his head and straightened his sinuous body, drawing himself up before concentrating his skewering gaze onto Draco's bowed head. He let his breath out in a loud hiss.

"Look at me, Draco, I won't bite," he drawled easily, his long, snake-like tongue rolling the _r_ of the Draco's name enticingly. Draco seemed to tense himself fractionally, his fists clenching slightly, before he lifted his head, locking eyes with Voldemort. The boy's grey, diamond-bright eyes were alight with missionary fervor, sparkling like polished crystal.

_Promising, very promising._

"Are you a virgin, Draco?" His question, colder than stone, was snapped out as fast and hard as a crack of a whip, and Voldemort's glacial, relentlessly deep gaze immediately sharpened on Draco, scrutinizing the effect that his controversial and unexpected question had on the boy.

"No." Draco's reply was swift and sure, his voice crisp, impersonal and as sharp as cut-glass.

_Excellent._

"Who did you give your virginity to?" Voldemort chose his words carefully, planning them out with accurate precision in his razor-sharp mind, with the correct inflection and appropriate tone, all rehearsed meticulously to gauge the boy's reaction.

This time, Draco took a bit longer to reply. The blond's jaw tightened behind his polite veneer, and he shifted his gaze slightly from Voldemort's eyes. His blush, originally the shade of pale pink sugared almonds, gradually deepened to rose. Licking his lips, Draco's answer was slightly quieter and hesitant than before.

"Blaise Zabini."

_Well, that **does **make things slightly easier._

Voldemort's lips quirked up into a bleak, dangerously intent smile, his pillaging, crimson eyes gleaming dangerously.

"Your task, Draco, is to take Harry Potter's virginity."

The blond's reaction was instantaneous; his upper lip curled in distaste, and his eyes narrowed in hostility, but his lips remained resolutely shut, knowing that it was an order that must be carried out, not a request of any kind.

"Ah, you scoff, my dear boy. But when you deign to delve deeper, it is not as straight-forward as it seems. Harry Potter is a sentimental, idealistic, Gryffindor _fool_. His virginity is not something that can be so easily obtained. And you, Draco Malfoy, have already presented yourself as his nemesis. Furthermore, you cannot include any sort of magic such as a potion at all, because Potter would not be fully dominated. What makes you so sure that you can _touch_ him, let alone get him to surrender himself to _you_?"

Voldemort rose from his seat and began to pace the room in premeditated, controlled strides. A touch of scorn underlined his words as he scowled at Draco. The sureness of his actions was almost hypnotic, reeking with authority, causing Draco to feel a powerful gust of adrenaline storming through his veins.

Nagini slithered into the room, her serpentine and long body snaking across the cold marble floor. She threw the blond a withering glance, accessing the situation to deduce whether Draco was friend or foe. Glaring haughtily at Draco, she turned her attention to her master, settling herself placidly at his feet.

"Potter has not been touched before. He is the embodiment of pristine, untainted pureness, the exact opposite of what I am. Think about it, Draco. You will be the one that he will submit to, the one that he will yield to. Can you imagine how unhinged, how exploited, how _humiliated_ he will be when he realizes that he has given up his _virginity _to one of _my _men?"

Nagini was now wrapped around his arm, and Voldemort extended a rigid, skeletal hand, stroking his beloved snake with fingers like the enveloping legs of threatening spiders. His words were whispered in a teasing air of a magician, and a small, inhumane laugh spilt forth from his compressed lips at the end of his taunts.

"This assignment requires the manipulation of Potter, exerting authority over every single part of him, namely his body, his mind and his heart, for this to work. You will need to hug this secret to yourself, hide your true emotions behind your smiles in front of him. It's a performance, Draco, a grand performance that requires painstaking deliberation and finesse of every move, every touch and every word. You will _own_ him, Draco. You will have the power to make him crumble from within, destroying him utterly and completely in whatever way that you see fit to." His voice, so carefully controlled, gradually changed. Voldemort was now purring like a prowling panther, liltingly tempting Draco with authority over Harry Potter.

"Prove your mettle and your loyalty to me, young Malfoy. Do not _dare_ return until you have what I hanker for."

With that, Voldemort returned to his seat, turning his wrist to the left. Nagini hissed, bowing her flat head before descending from his arm and gliding towards Draco. She stopped just inches away from the blond, whose wary eyes were darting between Voldemort and Nagini. She lifted her head, her eyes cocked in combat as her forked tongue slinked out smoothly from her jaws.

"It has come to my attention that…_ family_ means a lot to the Malfoys. Perform your task well, Draco, if not… an _accidental_ flick of a wand when dear Narcissa brings my tea out or oh _no_, perhaps, _just _perhaps a muttered spell when _darling_ Lucius' back is turned. Know where your allegiances lie, Draco. If not… you might face a future fraught with nothing but nightmares and pain, or maybe something even worse…" Voldemort trailed off delicately, his words dripping with silky iciness and rife with danger.

As if on cue, Nagini jerked her gleaming head up, her body undulating dangerously while she moved slightly towards Draco, snarling and baring her sharp, deadly, venom-tipped fangs threateningly at him.

"I understand, my Lord," the blond acquiesced obediently, dipping his head towards the other man. "May I ask a question, my Lord?" Lifting his eyes up to Voldemort for permission, Draco continued.

"How would I know if I've… dominated Potter?"

"Ahh… I almost forgot," Voldemort replied, smiling a smile that didn't really reach his eyes. Extracting his wand from his robes, he waved it with a lazy grace. Draco gasped; both in surprise and discomfort as he felt something like strings loop themselves around his cock. Balling his hands up into fists, Draco could feel another string wrap loosely around his heart, but it wasn't as tight as the one between his legs. He knew that these constraints weren't physical binds, but _magical_.

"You will know when you have succeeded, Draco," Voldemort whispered ominously, before getting up and turning his back, dismissing the boy. Draco ran his tongue over dry lips, a sliver of uncertainty hovering in his eyes while he bowed somberly one last time to Voldemort and retreated.

_Let the game begin._

* * *

He normally wouldn't go near saint _fucking _Potter with a bloody pole. The brunette was short, with lanky, gangly limbs that didn't suit him at all, always with that _ghastly _pair of glasses hanging askew on his nose with _completely_ no sense of style.

_And don't get me started on that disgusting head of hair, exactly like a bloody bird's nest._

After six years of conflict, Draco knew that every emotion that Harry felt was etched so clearly on his face, _don't you know, Potter, that when everyone knows how you're feeling, they can use you in ways that your plebeian, pathetic mind cannot grasp-_ wearing his heart on his sleeve.

Draco Malfoy had nothing but contempt and disdain for the other boy. The blond had concealed the turmoil churning in his stomach during the exchange with the Lord, his pride biting like shoes three sizes too small. He recalled how the deep swirl of excitement, the delicious thrum of anticipation had given way to knots of apprehension and disbelief when the Dark Lord finally divulged Draco's task.

_Harry **sodding** Potter. That lowers my standards to abysmal levels, _Draco glowered darkly. But that was what Lord Voldemort wanted, and that is what he will get. The lives of his parents hung in the balance, and Draco would be damned before he let Voldemort lay a single finger on them.

Licking his lips, Draco dipped the nib of his quill into his inkwell, marshalling his thoughts as the windmills of his swift mind whirred frantically. He had to figure out a flawless scheme that would run smoothly with absolutely no hitches at all, weaving a litany of shameless lies around him. Draco's legs were like lead, his mouth full of acid while he leant his heavy head on his hand, his quill hovering near the parchment, ready to outline whatever dastardly plan that he figured out.

He could not expose his ulterior motives to anyone at all, not even the other Slytherins. This conspiracy of deception and subterfuge revolved around him, and him _only_. The tactics that he had to use would employ every sleight of hand, every sneaky trick in the book that Draco had picked up. Anxiety accumulated in his chest one grain at a time while he skimmed through the Dark Lord's words.

_"…sentimental, idealistic Gryffindor fool-"_

A Gryffindor prides friendship, trust, affection, faith above all others-

_"…a performance, a grand performance-"_

-exactly what a Slytherin abhors with passion. A Slytherin hides his true intentions with a honeyed smile and a bloodied dagger behind his back, lies as light as air tumbling out oh-so-easily from their mouth.

_"…one that he will submit to-"_

Draco would have to swindle and cajole his way into Harry's life, changing Harry's perception of him. To do that, the blond knew that he had to understand Harry as well as the back of his own hand. As if a thunderbolt had struck him, Draco gritted his teeth and dipped his quill in ink again. He began to list down the characteristics and personality traits of the Gryffindor, underlining those that Draco could use to his advantage, and circling those precarious ones that might give him away.

_"… exerting authority over his heart-"_

Draco's quill was speeding over the parchment now, words forming as fast as wildfire.

What is the one emotion that Potter prizes? The one that he clings to desperately, the one that saved him from Voldemort all those times? This was the crux of the issue; this was the one that Draco had to make the focal point of his plan. This feeling that makes rational thoughts irrational, coloring every single thing in your life. This sensation that swallows you whole, tearing you apart from the inside if it spun out of control.

A squiggle of apprehension wormed its way through Draco's stomach.

Oh _God_.

_Love._

* * *

The Gryffindor yawned widely, stretching his body like a cat. Today's Quidditch practice was one of the best; Harry could see that his team was gelling together properly with each swerve and turn, moving like a well-oiled machine and racking up points like there was no tomorrow. He had stayed back a bit later after practice today to work on some Quidditch maneuvers, and he was confident that Gryffindor would beat Ravenclaw for the upcoming match.

Grinning happily to himself, Harry began to make his way back to the Gryffindor Tower to catch up on some much-needed sleep. He threaded and wove through the many corridors of Hogwarts, his path lit by the soft stream of shimmering moonlight that shone from the sky.

Suddenly, Harry tilted his head in surprise when he heard low voices in a nearby classroom. Wrinkling his brow questioningly, he crept stealthily towards the room, silently opening the door a mere slit.

_Oh **fuck**._

Draco Malfoy was on top of Blaise Zabini, fucking the life out of him. Blaise was on all fours on the teacher's table, his chocolate-colored limbs quivering in agitation. His head was hanging and lolling unsteadily, tendrils of liquorice-black curls swinging limply. Blaise's long fingers were hooked and scrabbling weakly on the edge of the table, his elbows jerking slightly due to the force of Draco's fucking.

Draco's thrillingly taut forearms were visibly vibrating with ardor; strands of dislodged blond hair flopping weakly over his forehead with each hard thrust. Harry caught a tantalizing glimpse of pink tongue between thin, pale lips, and the brunette could feel his own erection harden significantly, undiluted lust thrashing in his blood.

_"Fuck, Draco, fuck, want it harder-"_

_"I know how much you want it, you fucking slut-"_

_"Don't stop, oh yeah, fuck-"_

This was a visually delicious treat, an unexpected exotic feast that saturated the senses, and Harry drowsily savored the scene in front of him, his dazed green eyes large and drawn like magnets towards both Slytherins. The contrast of Blaise's dark skin clashing violently with Draco's beautiful alabaster's body was aesthetically pleasing, steeping Harry's excitement levels to insane heights. The Gryffindor's hormones were rampaging out of control at the filthiness and obsceneness of it all, and Harry drank the sight of it in greedily. Each hitch of breath, each restrained cry and each hiss of pleasure was magnified ten-fold in Harry's ears, and the brunette closed his eyes, relishing the sounds. The scent of sex wafted temptingly in the air, and Harry could almost _taste _the delectable, salty tang of sweat.

Biting his lip urgently, Harry let out a soft moan out of the corner of his mouth and wrapped a hand around his throbbing cock. He wanted to turn away, but he _couldn't_, because those two boys were so _fucking_ hot-

_God, I'm watching Draco Malfoy fuck Blaise Zabini and I'm enjoying it._

Abruptly, Draco's head snapped up, hooking his gaze instantly onto Harry's intense green eyes, which were half-lidded and swimming in wantonness and hunger. Harry was frozen into sheer immobilized terror, every molecule of his body on high alert. Draco's eyes were a blood-thirsty silver fire, literally frazzling Harry's eyeballs, giving heated looks of unequalled desire, boring right through Harry's sexed-up brain. The brunette moved his tongue, wanting to explain, but it was dry and heavy like a block of wood. His face burnt in shame, and Harry's stomach squirmed, launching into a wave of self-disgust and mortification.

Slowly, Draco's lips turned up into an unmistakably triumphant smirk and his eyes narrowed in undisguised pleasure. The blond jerked Blaise's head up roughly before letting his lips descend ruthlessly onto Blaise's. His tongue was like an unsheathed silver dagger, hot, sudden and quick, sliding smoothly between Blaise's pearly-white teeth, pillaging the other Slytherin's mouth.

_we can do it fast, we can do it slow-_

And all this time, Draco's unblinking and unwavering gaze was lasered remorselessly into Harry's eyes, as though _he _was the one that Draco was kissing so devastatingly.

_baby I've got something for you-_

Swallowing quickly, Harry swiftly looked down to his shoes when Blaise emitted a loud cry as he came hard onto the table. The Gryffindor's knees were trembling uncontrollably like whippets, and he had to summon every inch of self-control not to take his own cock out and jerk himself off there and then.

_"Draco, I know you're going to come, please-"_

_"Oh yes-"_

Like a little boy scared of a horror show, but still wanting to watch it, Harry hesitantly lifted his eyes towards Draco. The blond's plundering glare clamped onto Harry, never shifting and Harry gasped softly in sheer shock when Draco's lips formed Harry's name while he came in Blaise.

_tell me what you wanna feel, tell me what you wanna do-_

But it was more than enough; Harry could feel that tight, scraping feeling of self-loathing and treachery catching up to him. Turning sharply on his heel, willing valiantly for his erection to subside, Harry fled.

_Harry Potter is innocent._

_But not anymore._

**

Blaise was breathing deeply, feeling the ebbing waves of his orgasm taper away regretfully. Draco, however, was already zipping his pants up, running his fingers through his tousled hair.

"Same time tomorrow?" the brunette asked as he reached for his underwear.

"No, I don't think so. I've had enough," Draco replied perfunctorily with a terse smile.

Blaise raised an eyebrow in mild surprise. The blond picked up his wand, letting his eyes sweep over the length of Blaise's naked body in disappointment. He marveled at the expanse of gleaming coffee-colored flesh, the powerful, rippling muscles, those gorgeous shoulders…

And to give up all of _that_, and settle for _Potter's_ scrawny body. What a _bloody_ waste.

"See you at the dorms," Draco muttered darkly before stalking out of the room.

Blaise pursed his lips curiously. He had noticed a few changes in his friend ever since the beginning of the new school year, the way Draco kept to himself, the way Draco didn't show such a huge interest in Quidditch anymore, how sometimes during meals he would find the blond's attention wandering absently over to the Gryffindor table.

Blaise had gently tried to ask Draco about it, but each time he did, Draco simply ignored him. And now this… cessation of sex.

But the brunette knew better than to pry into Draco's private affairs.

_Oh well_, he thought flippantly as he dressed. Such a shame, though. Draco was _so_ good in bed.

* * *

The first letter came during breakfast two days after he saw both Slytherins having sex.

Blinking and swallowing his mouthful of cornflakes, Harry opened it gingerly, holding the letter down to his lap shiftily so that Ron and Hermione couldn't see it. There were no names at all in the letter, but Harry immediately knew beyond a shadow of a doubt who it was from.

_"I didn't know you were the sort that liked to watch."_

Draco's eyes, as sharp as switch-blades, swiveled over to Harry, studying the Gryffindor over his goblet of orange juice. He saw the brunette blush a brilliant red, before lifting scandalized eyes to Draco. Scowling angrily at the blond, Harry tore the letter up into pieces.

_The opposite of love is not hate, but **indifference.**_

Draco couldn't help but smirk into his orange juice.

He waited three more days, letting Harry stew and flounder in confusion and turmoil before he sent the next letter.

_"I wonder if you're thinking about me as much as I'm thinking about you."_

Draco had purposely selected this sentence to steer Harry away from the overwhelming images of sex, and maybe instill some sort of… light _romance_ into the fray. Upon reception of the letter, Harry's eyes had widened into saucers, a soft tinge of pink flushing his cheeks. Draco had gazed serenely at the brunette, resting his chin on the crook of his curved palm and pasting a small, sweet smile on his face.

Draco saw the Mudblood and the Weasel exchange a concerned look. Granger touched Harry's arm lightly and asked the brunette a question, her eyebrows knitted in slight worry. Harry only managed to flash them a brief, non-committal smile, assuring them that everything was alright. Draco caught a fleeting movement underneath the table, and he knew that Harry had hidden the letter.

_Harry Potter values friendship._

_But even the best of friends keep their dirty little secrets from each other._

Each word that he had penned was turned over meticulously in Draco's mind a thousand times for maximal shock value. Draco had chosen to kick-start his plan with nothing but raw, passionate sex, something so foreign and delicious to Harry so that Draco was completely sure that Harry had been thinking about nothing _but_ sex. And now, the presence of the letters would reinforce Draco's dominance, how Draco took the first step in approaching the other boy. Harry's reaction to Blaise and him fucking and the letters was perfect and exactly how Draco had predicted it to be.

Draco would give Harry a total of one week to breathe and simmer in his own niggling thoughts before he struck again. This next step was the most important of them all; it would test every ounce of Draco's play-acting and histrionics. If he fucked it up, he could kiss his parents goodbye.

This time, he would take no prisoners.

* * *

Harry worried his bottom lip with his teeth as he ran a hand through the black chaotic swirls of his hair. He took a step, but paused and took three steps back. He stood a short distance away from the classroom where he had stumbled on Blaise and Draco exactly one week before, an impending sense of déjà vu descending on him.

He couldn't stop thinking about the two of them, as though his mind was stuck on replay, rewinding that particular heart-stopping scene. Recently, his dreams had careened off to dangerous territory: he kept fantasizing that _he_ was the one that was writhing in desire _under _Draco Malfoy.

And he didn't like boys.

No, he _definitely_ did not like boys, Harry inwardly muttered to himself, trying as hard as he could to suppress his erection. Dragging his fingers through his unruly fringe, the Gryffindor exhaled sharply, resolutely moving forward and cracked the door open.

The classroom was empty.

_Harry Potter is curious._

_But sometimes, curiosity kills._

Breathing a sigh of relief, Harry tried to ignore the way his cock wilted disappointingly. He gently closed the door and turned around, ready to return to the Gryffindor dorms-

-and came face-to-face with Draco Malfoy.

The brunette gave a terrified yelp and shrank back, his back flattened against the door and his route of escape blocked by the ruthlessly advancing blond. Harry's toes were bent double with embarrassment. Within a matter of seconds, Draco's long, lanky figure was only a mere teasing inch away from Harry's shaking body. The Slytherin's palms were slammed loudly on the door, his strong, sinewy arms locked near both sides of Harry's head. A bony knee was nudged unceremoniously between Harry's parted thighs, and the brunette had to stifle a gasp.

Draco's pale, thick lashes were lowered suggestively over slit grey eyes, a sly, cat-like smirk reposing on his lips. He was wearing a thin, white shirt that was transparent enough to reveal the darker shadows of his nipples, and Draco's legs were encased in a pair of black pants that was skin-tight and left nothing to the imagination.

Harry's erection was back with a vengeance.

Harry swallowed nervously, but he squeaked in surprise when Draco twisted the door open, manhandling Harry into the room. Flinging the door close with a hard backwards swing of his leg, Draco pushed an astonished Harry brutally up against the blackboard, the length of both their bodies pressed thrillingly against each other. Draco suddenly gave his hips a sharp jerk, and Harry felt their erections rub tantalizingly together. The brunette couldn't help but moan, grabbing tufts of blond hair at the nape of Draco's neck.

Harry's nerves were jangling, his palms moist with sweat, and he abruptly felt that his breath was constricted. The unfamiliar, alien vanilla scent of the other boy invaded his nostrils, and Harry's entire body was awash with sensational heat, sweeping him away to the abyss of lust and desire, their hips brushing, arms wrapped around each other, hard cocks scraping, foreign lips on his neck, sucking, biting, licking, _fucking_-

_this may not last but this is **now**-_

"I'd take you on any time on my own. Tonight, if you want," Draco rasped out, hot breath ghosting over Harry's collarbone. His voice was like rich, decadent chocolate, his words, which were laid on thick, were flowing smoothly and seductively like the sweetest honey, Draco's every touch leaving cloying, bitter-sweet welts bubbling away unexpectedly on Harry's skin.

Harry couldn't reply; every fibre of his being was being clutched in the remorseless grip of lust. The air was crackling with electric current, their warm bodies magical with desire. Finally, the fact that this was _Malfoy_ finally caught up into his hazy and muddled brain. Summoning up the last vestiges of his resistance, Harry planted his palms on Draco's shoulders, pushing the blond away from him.

Defiant emerald melded hotly with calm, grey silver as both boys glared at each other. Draco's eyes were glowing predatorily like Galleons, the whites of his eyes gleaming hungrily in the darkness.

"Scared, Potter?" Draco whispered tauntingly, his lips curving up into a superior smirk that held a hint of a challenge. Harry was suddenly reminded of the jeering and insults that his friends and him had suffered under Draco's sharpened tongue. Snatches of the mocking conversations that both boys had exchanged throughout the years washed over Harry, crashing over him like a brutal tidal wave. Matching the intensity of Draco's glare with his own, Harry leaned in, his upper lip curling in battle. Hostility rose up in his throat in waves, his neurons fizzing with maliciousness, aggression and bitterness pumping in his boiling blood like a storm.

_Harry Potter gets angry easily._

_But only if you know how to push his buttons._

"You _wish_, Malfoy."

Draco snorted derisively. "You wait, I'll _have_ you." With that, the blond swooped down on Harry like a hawk, their biting lips mashing together audaciously, both their front teeth banging painfully against each other. Their tongues were doing a mating dance, vying for dominance. Neither was willing to give in to the other, until Draco lifted a hand up, tangling his fingers in Harry's hair and jerking the other boy's chin up. Taken back by surprise, Harry moaned, powerless to resist, letting Draco's tongue slip easily between his teeth.

_if you wanna go higher, get closer to the fire-_

Draco smiled inwardly to himself as he felt whatever little dominance that Harry possessed crumble into fine dust. Lightning streaks of desire were darting like fireflies through Harry's body. The spiraling sensations of heat and sex churning in Harry increased of their own accord, as though his body recognized a fantastic lover even if his mind denied it.

All of a sudden, Draco pulled away, breaking the kiss. His lips were plump, swollen and blood-red. Draco's eyes were alight with the triumph of sexual possession, a victorious grin on his face, searing Harry with his unblinking gaze.

"Bet you loved that, didn't you, Potter?"

Harry gulped. His scattered thoughts refused to thunder back into his foggy brain. He didn't know what to say or what to think. Was he supposed to be angry or confused or horrified or _pleased_? The only thing that filtered through his smoky mind was that Draco Malfoy was a _bloody_ good kisser.

The Slytherin stared at Harry for a while more, his streaky blond hair falling over his forehead helplessly. Harry watched in amazement and consternation while Draco seemed to _deflate_ before his very eyes like a pierced balloon. Every strong line of his pale face, every springy wave of his hair collapsed, and the remnants of bravado in his demeanor faded. Draco slumped down hopelessly into a chair, his once-proud and handsome exterior and lazy confidence shriveling up like a prune. Draco's lips, which were once the color of perfect raspberry sorbet, were now drained and bloodless.

Letting out a longing sigh that seemed to come from the very depths of his soul, Draco cast a worried, troubled gaze onto Harry. His shoulders sagged with the admission of defeat. There was a catch in his voice when he murmured, his voice quivering with emotion.

"I-I'm doing it all w-wrong, aren't I?"

Harry was opening and closing his mouth like a goldfish. The wheels of his mind refused to spin, and he could only stare in shock at this Draco that he had never seen before, _this_ Draco who looked so small and pitiful.

_Harry Potter has a hero complex, which can bring untold fame and glory._

_But it can also be his downfall._

"I f-fancy you, Harry. I shouldn't have kissed you so roughly, I'm s-sorry, but I, I just- I, oh, _please_," Draco whispered softly, his voice aching with need as he pressed the heels of his palms on his eyes, leaning his elbows heavily on his thighs, dislodged alabaster hair dangling weakly, the absolute picture of despair.

Harry wanted to run away and never return, but his feet seemed to have been hammered to the floor. This… _admission_, as sudden as a bolt of the blue, was something that he would never have expected at all. _He's Malfoy, he's a Death Eater's son, it's a trick, it's nothing but a trick, he's acting! _Ungluing his tongue from the roof of his mouth, he cleared his throat before spitting out venomously.

"You're _mad_, Malfoy."

Draco swiped at his face roughly with the back of his hand, lifting up his face to gaze forlornly at Harry. His long-lashed eyes, which were oh-so-sure and flirtatious just minutes ago, were now round and defenseless like a puppy's.

"I knew you wouldn't believe me! But I had to tell you, I _had_ to! Don't think that I haven't noticed how… tense and disconnected you feel when you're with Weasley and Granger, it shows during mealtimes and classes! Maybe, maybe all you need is someone to _talk _to!"

"And so, you're trying to comfort me simply out of the _pureness_ of your heart? You're a Death Eater's _son_, I don't _bloody_ believe a single word that comes out of your mouth!" Harry snapped back, his lips turned up into a sneer as he advanced towards the blond, his body tensed to iron hardness. This was comfortable, familiar territory. Draco would insult Ron and Hermione, and then Harry would reply with an equally scathing comment about Draco's family. Harry had gotten used to their verbal sparring matches, and he _refused_ to think about how weak and forsaken Draco looked. His green eyes burning through his curtain of fringe, he glared at Draco, expecting the blond to reply with an acerbic come-back.

The Slytherin let out a distressing sob, and his head hung _just_ a little bit lower, his lips turned down _just _a little bit more pathetically, his hands trembled _just_ a little bit more, and when he spoke, Draco employed _just_ the right amount of stutter and stammer.

"H-Harry, it's… it's so easy to fall in_ love_ with you." _broken whisper, dripping with silent anguish-_

All the gumption was suddenly knocked out of Harry as though a fist was slammed into his solar plexus, replaced with a hot, seething mass of incredulity and suspicion. Running a hand through his hair, Harry could only blurt out unthinkingly, his voice ascending on a hysterical upward spiral.

"But I'm not in love with _you_!"

"I know, Harry! I'm not asking for that right now! I'm just asking you to… give me a chance…" Draco trailed off morosely, a soft cloud of pink colored graciously onto his cheeks. The blond quickly stood up, padding over to Harry, passion evident in the core of his being.

"_Please_," the blond murmured beseechingly into Harry's ear, a guileless smile on his lips. Draco's pale fingers were gently stroking the side of Harry's face in a hypnotizing manner, caressing the brunette's cheekbones and his petal-soft skin. Gently sweeping Harry's hair away, Draco lowered his head, pressing a loving kiss onto the Gryffindor's temple in an intimate gesture.

_God, no one has touched me like this before_, Harry thought drunkenly as he inadvertently lifted a hand up, wrapping his fingers around Draco's elbow, a sensation like the sweet tinkling of bells resounding in his stomach. _Draco Malfoy, Draco, **Malfoy**_. Yanking himself out of Draco's embrace, Harry ruthlessly pushed the blond away.

"Leave me _alone_!"

With a terrified and confused look etched on his face, a bleary-eyed and foggy-brained Harry fled the scene once again.

**

The persona_ I don't mind trying on someone else, changing my disguise-_ that he had donned so skillfully like a coat gradually slipped off. Draco sighed weakly, collapsing back on a chair. He had tapped onto his large repertoire of emotions, schooling his features so precisely and carefully to achieve maximal effect. He felt as wrung out as a rag doll, weaving his conscientious and fragile web of lies and deceit around himself like a cocoon.

Tonight's goal was to toss Harry into a whirlpool of emotions, throwing Harry completely off-kilter. The seed of doubt at his two best friends was planted, but Draco would be surprised if that took root. The three Gryffindors had gone through thick and thin together, and Draco knew that he didn't have the power to sow discord amongst the trio. It didn't matter much anyway, that wasn't a major part of his scheme.

All Draco needed was to allow a chink of weakness through his hard carapace of a personality, and it was more than enough to let Harry have second thoughts about his nemesis. A cold surge of elation shot up in Draco's stomach when he recalled the look of irresistible confusion on Harry's face, the way the brunette liked to believe the best in everyone, the way Harry almost gave into Draco's longing caresses that were in actual fact dripping with the sincerity of a prostitute's kiss.

_I can't believe I kissed Harry Potter. Merlin, I better brush my teeth twice tonight, _Draco sniffed disdainfully, the ever-present knife of dislike twisting in his gut. Grinning suddenly to himself, Draco closed his eyes and remembered how Harry had surrendered during the kiss, and how Draco had bit the other boy's lips, drawing miniscule amounts of metallic blood.

_You can't use what you can't abuse._

But the stage was set; this was mind-fucking at its best.

_You're dead, Potter._

* * *

Harry looked miserably at the six flowers that were lying innocently on his bed. Every single day during breakfast for the past six days, Draco had relentlessly owled a flower to Harry. With every flower sent, a small note accompanied it, stating the place where Draco would be every night at eleven pm should Harry choose to meet him. The message was crystal-clear:

_I'm not giving up._

Harry tried to pretend that it was all a dream, that there was no way that Draco, his long-time enemy of five years, had actually professed his love for him. But every time he opened his trunk, the place where he hid the flowers, he would cringe slightly, feeling the flowers shoot accusing glares at him. The flowers were exceptionally beautiful, each one magically and intricately designed in different shades of colors.

Harry picked up his favorite one; a rose enchanted with bright red and silver swirls on its petals, but when Harry gently unfolded the petals to peek a bit further in the rose, there was the hidden color of white buried coquettishly between each petal.

It was his favorite flower also because it smelt so delectably of Draco. Lifting the rose up to his nose, Harry felt his heart give a skippety skip of excitement when the syrupy-sweet fragrance of the blond's vanilla scent wafted to his nostrils.

The other flowers were equally gorgeous; there was a daisy which changed its color according to Harry's mood, a sunny, optimistic sunflower that had bright green glitter etched on its petals. Whenever Harry brushed the sparkles off with his finger, the glitter would take mere seconds to re-form.

Harry sighed and looked at his nails, which were bitten down to the quick in nervousness. Running his fingers tenderly over the stems of all six flowers, he carefully bunched the flowers together and replaced them in his trunk.

_sparked up, sparked up like a book of matches-_

He had made his mind up already; he was going to see Draco tonight. His initial hostility and bewilderment had given way to just plain, neutral confusion, and a teeny bit of flattery.

_"H-Harry, it's… it's so easy to fall in love with you."_

He couldn't stop thinking about the blond; his body, his lips, his voice, his _dominance_ which turned Harry on to no end. The brunette had always been the leader among his peers, and it was extremely refreshing to take a step back and relinquish the reins, surrendering them to someone else.

Even if he was Draco _Malfoy_.

Besides, the sooner he saw Draco, the sooner the Slytherin would stop sending the flowers. It was not that Harry didn't like it, but he was quickly running out of excuses to tell Ron and Hermione whenever they breached the subject of the flowers. He didn't know why he didn't want to reveal the whole matter, but he felt that it was something… _private_ that he chose to keep to himself. Ron and Hermione were still too busy trying to hide their true feelings for each other anyway, Harry thought to himself wryly.

Hauling himself up from his bed, the Gryffindor stood up, pulling apart the curtains of his four-poster quietly. He patted his pocket to ensure that his wand was tucked away in his clothes. Closing his eyes for a few seconds, Harry swiftly ran though a list of hexes and spells that he could employ in case he got attacked.

Draco could give him a whole bloody garden, whisper nothing but the most honeyed professions of love to Harry the whole night, but under no circumstances would the brunette willingly meet Draco without arming himself with the necessary wards.

He was _Malfoy_ after all.

**

_Fucking, **sodding** flowers,_ Draco thought darkly to himself as he leaned back against the trunk of a tree beneath the cover of the skies. Crossing his arms huffily over his chest, Draco directed a scowl to nothing in particular. The cool night air was sweet, still and warm. A huge pale moon hung contentedly in the velvety black sky, casting its trail of milky light on the blond. Thin, wispy scraps of clouds floated gratifyingly in the sky. Around him, the trees rustled peacefully in the gentle breeze.

God, how Draco wanted to stuff the flowers down Potter's throat and choke him to death. He had spent so much time in the library working out the spells and wand-work necessary to conjure up the enchantments on each plant. Draco also had spent countless, tedious hours re-working and repeating the spell of each flower to get the perfect, desired effect.

Glancing down at his arms, Draco lifted his inner left forearm up to the moonlight. Narrowing his eyes, he squinted at his skin, studying every inch, ensuring that every trace of the Dark Mark was hidden. The Malfoys were prized with translucent, pale skin, but it proved to be a problem when Draco had tried to conceal the Mark. He had to use a complex concoction of spells to mask the tattoo, and on top of that, he had to apply selective amounts of Muggle make-up to hide and blend any possible shadows of the Mark on his alabaster skin.

_He better turn up soon, if not I might just push him up against the sodding wall and rape the life out of him._

But Draco knew that that wouldn't work. If he did that, he definitely would not be dominating Harry's heart.

_But it was a bloody good thought, though._

Suddenly, he heard footsteps advancing towards him. Blinking and giving himself a mental shake, Draco straightened up, ready to execute Act Two of his performance.

**

Harry's clammy palm was gripping his wand tightly while he made his way gingerly towards the Slytherin. Wobbling a bit unsteadily on his feet, Harry sat down beside Draco. The brunette tensed himself fractionally while he gazed at Draco, drinking in this shimmering blond beauty. Draco's pale-lashed eyes gleamed in the moonlight, and Harry let his gaze drop down surreptitiously to Draco's delicately fashioned arms, which were completely relaxed and exposed. Biting his lip, Harry shifted his position slightly, craning his neck at awkward angles to see if there was any hint of the Dark Mark on Draco's left arm. He knew that the Dark Mark was a powerful sort of Dark Magic, and if one simply uses concealing spells, remnants of the Mark would still show through the disguise.

_Harry Potter is wary._

_But wariness can be thwarted by perfect lies._

Draco's arm was an even, perfect shade of cream.

Relaxing slightly, Harry leant back onto the tree trunk. Very slowly, Draco inched his hand towards Harry, tentatively wrapping his fingers around Harry's wrist. The brunette froze at the contact, but didn't pull his hand away. As though Harry had given him the green light, the blond tenderly laced their fingers together.

"I don't trust you, Malfoy," Harry said bluntly, bringing up his wand just a mere inch, pointing it at Draco. The blond smiled serenely, lifting grey and glittery eyes up to Harry. Draco's fingers started to move, lightly stroking Harry's smooth fingernails.

"May I kiss you?"

The Gryffindor was completely taken back. He had expected Draco to retort with some sort of sarcastic reply, but…

"I, er, uhm, well, yeah," Harry muttered as he lowered his eyes down to the ground shyly, his cheeks a flaming red. Draco smiled as he dipped his head down to Harry, cradling the brunette's face in his cupped palms. Harry felt that rush of affection and pleasant surprise quicken, electrifying every nerve ending. His skin was hyper-sensitized, magnifying Draco's every touch to unbearable heights.

_when you gave me that kiss it made me go oh-oh_

It was like suddenly discovering a new taste, a new flavor that Harry had never tried before. Unguided missiles zoomed frantically all over his body, and he could feel his resolve disintegrate helplessly when the kiss, as sweet as powdered sugar, rhythmically deepened. He could feel the warm butterfly touch of Draco's fingers wandering purposely over his face, smoothing back riotous curls of black hair and the backs of Draco's fingers stroking his cheeks lovingly. The blond's arms snaked down to Harry's waist, where Draco stealthily disarmed Harry's wand from his limp, distracted fingers.

_oh, if only you knew, Harry-_

_that that was nothing but-_

_the perfect Judas kiss-_

Harry pulled away, swallowing lungfuls of much-needed air, trying to clear his mind and assemble his thoughts. It was a strange sensation when he broke the kiss, as though he was released from an enthralling spell. He felt his senses click back into place, making him conscious again of sound, color and movement as his vision sharpened on Draco. Astounded, soft grey eyes were crinkling in delight, and his pale face showed the slightest hint of rose under the moonlight's caress.

The brunette carded his fingers through his hair and swallowed nervously. Wringing his hands anxiously in his lap, he felt the subsiding warm glow of the kiss spread to his very fingertips.

"I know you don't trust me, Harry. All I'm asking for is _one chance_," Draco pleaded, tucking a finger under Harry's chin and lifting the other boy's bashful gaze.

Harry basked in Draco's warm admiration, getting lost in the blond's relentlessly deep grey orbs, and the brunette could almost see the smattering of stars dancing playfully in Draco's eyes. Pulling the Gryffindor closer to him, Draco bent down, pressing a precious necklace of kisses around the base of Harry's throat.

"What… what does _this_ mean?" Harry whispered disbelievingly, feebly resting his head on the slender curve of Draco's neck, wrapping his arms around the blond. His defenses were completely annihilated and Harry's wand, which he had held so threateningly a mere few minutes before, was already forgotten and thrown haphazardly to the ground.

Draco grinned dotingly, peppering Harry's neck with kisses before replying huskily.

"It means, Harry, that I'm all _yours_."

* * *

**A/N: This should be a three-chaptered fic, updated weekly. If you're interested to see how I turn this Romance/Horror story around to a happy ending, stick around. **

**/secret grin **


	2. Lucifer's Salute

**Defiled by xErised**

* * *

Harry Potter felt like shit.

Puffing away an overgrown section of fringe that fell irritatingly to his eyes, the brunette swallowed the last mouthful of bitter potion that Madam Pomfrey had prescribed for his Quidditch injury. Wincing in pain, Harry removed his glasses and slowly crawled back into bed, ready to turn in for the night.

Gryffindor had been leading by a large margin during the match against Hufflepuff that day. As captain, Harry felt like he was at the top of the world, his chest puffed out with pride as he noticed how his expert team attacked, defended and moved together so adeptly.

Until the Bludger had slammed itself so invitingly into Harry's side.

So that was why Harry was ensconced in the infirmary, nursing his shattered ribs. He would probably be alright by tomorrow, but that didn't stop Hermione from dumping a small pile of books and parchment on his table, gently reminding Harry that he had some homework due the day after. Harry's lips quirked up into a smile when he remembered how Ron and Hermione had spent the evening after dinner with him, talking and joking just like old times.

That is, until Ron said something to Hermione that he genuinely didn't know was offensive and Hermione, in a fit of sudden anger, had stormed off to the Gryffindor dorms without a backwards glance at the both of them.

Sighing softly to himself, Harry cautiously turned over in bed, feeling a narcotic-laced fog of medication descend ruthlessly upon his shoulders. He had harbored a small glimmer of hope that maybe Draco would have dropped by to visit him, but…

_It's nothing, just a Quidditch injury, he doesn't have to come running at every small thing,_ Harry consoled himself lightly as he rubbed his exhausted eyes. The brunette felt his heart perform a small pirouette when he thought of the blond. It had been two weeks since that fateful night beneath the tree, and Draco had turned out to be a gentleman to the backbone when it came to Harry, showering him with presents and generous amounts of affection. Harry still had a handful of misgivings and reservations when it came to the blond, though. Sometimes, Draco would take a split second longer to reply whenever Harry asked him an innocent question; as though Draco was hiding a secret. There was _something _that Harry couldn't put his finger on, but well, the overwhelming truth was that Draco made him… _happy_.

_Very _happy.

Harry blinked questioningly when he blurrily saw an imposingly tall figure, dressed completely in black, swiftly entering the infirmary. Sitting up carefully in bed, Harry couldn't help but feel the weariness that he had been shouldering for so long melt away when he realized that that was Draco. His blood surged, and his heart beat a little bit faster when the Slytherin moved closer to Harry, finally stopping beside Harry's bed. Harry felt a familiar lift to his spirits as he shifted wordlessly, letting the other boy climb into bed with him.

The Gryffindor met Draco's mesmerizing smile with a helpless, dopey grin. Draco was pulse-racingly gorgeous, the way he mingled sex appeal so easily with lazy grace, and those… _those_ beautiful, envious cheekbones that his sculpted face so haughtily boasted.

Draco slid closer to Harry, wrapping his left arm around the other boy, meticulously avoiding the injury. "How do you feel?" he asked concernedly.

"Happy," Harry stupidly replied, touches of pink in his cheeks as Draco chuckled softly. Suddenly, Harry felt an unwelcome twizzle of embarrassment. He probably looked like a mess, with his crazed, rumpled swirls of hair, bloodshot eyes and his breath, which _definitely_ smelt of medicine. Biting his lip worriedly, Harry bashfully flipped around quickly in bed, accidentally forgetting about his wound.

Hissing in discomfort, Harry gripped his side in agony, feeling resounding judders of pain fan out from his wound. He felt Draco shift closer to him, the blond's front pressed comfortingly against Harry's back.

"You've got to take care of yourself, Harry. I'd _die _if anything happened to you," he chided gently, taking hold of Harry's hand and giving it an admonitory squeeze. Harry nodded goofily in reply, feeling gentle waves of attracting thudding up his arm. Draco's voice was thawing his initial shyness, and Harry slowly turned back to the blond, so that they were both facing each other.

Draco's eyes were shimmering like liquid satin in the moonlight, full of adoration and concern. Harry felt his cheeks burn, matching the warm glow around his heart. Draco smiled in return as he smoothed back Harry's turbulent curls, letting his hand slither down to Harry's wound.

"Is it here?"

Harry bit his lip before nodding. Draco began to stroke Harry's injury lovingly through his shirt, his feather-light touches causing a delicious and unaccustomed warmth seeping into Harry's bones. The brunette burrowed his head into Draco's chest, wrapping his arms around the other boy while Draco continued to sooth Harry's bruise tenderly with those magical fingers, melting Harry's insides like chocolate.

"Does it feel better, darling?"

Harry's head shot up, shockwaves of stupefaction reverberating from top to toe, his heart clattering away on overdrive.

"W-What did you call me?" Surprise was rising within Harry like a high-speed elevator.

Draco's eyebrows rose in alarm. "Shit, I didn't know you didn't like it. I won't say that from now on-"

"No! I- I… well, I just wasn't expecting it, that's all. If you like, you could call me that… anytime you want…" Harry trailed off demurely, not daring to meet the Slytherin's eyes. Draco grinned warmly, but his beam faded when he saw Harry's eyelashes unwillingly droop with exhaustion.

"Want me to spend the night with you?"

"Yes. I-I would like that very much," Harry replied, a toe-tingling surge of joy mingled with disbelief. The Gryffindor's liquid eyes were brimming with delight, radiating the warm glow of devotion.

They stayed like that the whole night; Harry nestled happily in Draco's calm, reassuring grasp, like two long-lost lovers embracing under the mistletoe.

_Harry Potter is affectionate._

_It makes me want to fucking puke._

* * *

His whole life was picked up and shaken like a snow globe. Draco Malfoy was coursing through his bloodstream like a drug; this dangerous sense of euphoria thudding uncontrollably through his veins whenever Harry met up with the blond every night, as though he was stuck on a rollercoaster that was jammed on the pinnacle of the ride.

And Harry Potter didn't want to get off.

_core of my universe, pivot of my world-_

As time unfurled, unwound and unfolded, Harry felt that he was enveloped in an impenetrable cloud of delirious happiness, the way that he would wake up every single day with a smile on his face, his heart leaping like a salmon just by _thinking _of glimpsing Draco during classes and most importantly, being cocooned in the blond's comforting arms every night.

This was adoration and love that Harry had never experienced before, and he was glugging it down like water.

_once you've danced on air, how could you be satisfied with trudging on boring old ground again?_

Draco's displays of fondness weren't limited to only mere fondles during the night, though. Whenever Draco and his gang of Slytherins went out to Hogsmeade, the blond would always specially buy Harry's favorite candies and treats back for him. It was small gestures, small actions like this that glowed in Harry's memory, remembering it like how someone might remember a great book.

Draco loved to tease Harry during lessons, writing love letters to the Gryffindor and sending it to Harry right under Ron and Hermione's noses.

_"Bloody hell, Harry, another letter from Malfoy again? He's an unbearable slimy git, you know."_

_"Yeah. He's a foul, evil bastard, all right."_

And then Harry would try to fight the secret, stubborn smile that spread over the bottom half of his face, attempting desperately to school his features into a mask of dislike and hatred to meet Draco's hostile glare, but he simply couldn't.

_Nothing but a foul, evil bastard._

_Yeah._

_A foul, evil bastard that had his lips wrapped around my cock last night_.

Draco had never pushed Harry regarding sex at all, and for that, Harry was immensely grateful. Both boys had done everything _but_ sex, and Harry had been thrilled and delighted when he realized how patient and how passionate the blond was. However, Harry was nervous and apprehensive about sex itself, especially when he remembered how Draco had fucked Blaise so vigorously that night in the classroom.

_Blaise **fucking** Zabini_, Harry glowered, chartreuse with envy, his fists seizing up in anger and possessiveness whenever he thought of the other boy. _Draco's **mine, **and don't you **dare** forget it._

_"Draco? Are you… angry that we haven't had sex yet?"_

_"No! What makes you say that?"_

_"I-well, we've been together for months and… and I thought that you wouldn't be happy about that. And with the whole… Blaise thing and all…"_

_"Blaise? Harry, we've talked about this already, he's nothing compared to you!"_

_"…Really?"_

_"Yes. I'm not going to rush you about this, Harry. Now, drop the subject and come closer."_

_"Oh, Draco…"_

It was an unspoken agreement between the both of them regarding Voldemort. Harry and Draco neatly side-stepped around the unwelcomed topic, partly because Draco didn't seem willing to talk about it whenever Harry tentatively brought it up, and because Harry didn't want the apparition of Voldemort hanging uncomfortably between them, marring their light-hearted conversation, staining their relationship.

Sometimes, Harry couldn't help but feel an alarm bell shrill warningly in his heart whenever he glimpsed fingers of shadow touch Draco's face, how sometimes a triumphant, almost maniacal gleam would flash in the blond's eyes whenever Harry said something romantic. Harry could feel that at times like these, the brief doubts that he had taken such pains to bury would flare up unexpectedly, but Draco, ever the silver-tongued charmer, would wear Harry's hesitancy down like how a relentless wave would lap gently, eroding a rock, and Harry would feel that small knot of unease in the pit of his stomach gradually unravel and fall away.

_"I love you, Draco."_

_"Forever?"_

_"Yes, Draco… forever."_

_"I love you forever, Harry."_

* * *

The love letter had been clutched so tightly by Draco so many times that its sides were irreversible wrinkles of parchment. His jaw set like concrete, the blond let his eyes skim through the note of mushy drivel swiftly and passionlessly yet again.

_It's so typically Gryffindor of him._

Draco's cold, glassy grey eyes, brimming with unadulterated jubilation, glistened like freshly-polished silver cutlery. The Slytherin eyed Harry's neat, willowy hand-writing narrowly, his lips turning up into a derisive sneer. The last few months were nauseating, to say the least. Draco had assaulted Harry viciously with a barrage of pure, undiluted charm, and the pliable extent that Harry had responded to Draco's advances was nothing short of loathsome. The brunette was clinging to him like a homeless puppy, those impossibly green eyes a mixture of love and utter surrender.

_l-o-v-e is a word that I'll never learn to pronounce-_

Draco felt a mounting, almost unbearable excitement rising up within him; he was giddy with anticipation. It was close, he could almost _smell _it, like a vulture poised to swoop, reveling in the scent of death, and he could feel Harry's resolve and wariness weakening after every one of their clandestine meetings.

It wouldn't be long; it _definitely _wouldn't be long before Harry would offer himself up to Draco on a silver platter.

_it's more fun living in sin-_

It had given him an addictive thrill when he saw his plans crystallize, every gesture that he had schemed performed like a neat, over-calculated chess move. Shifting on his bed in the Slytherin dorms, the blond raised his eyes to the dark vault of the heavens above, a sigh reeking of exhaustion spilling forth from his lips. Resting his heavy head on his palm, he slumped down wearily on the bed.

But now, he was just… _tired_. Tired of drenching his words in high-fructose syrup, tired of keeping his mind and body on high alert every time he interacted with Harry, just so _fucking_ tired. But Draco gritted his teeth inwardly and bore with it, keeping the memories of his parents near the surface, ensuring that Draco never forgot what was at stake if he failed.

_your shadow weighs a ton-_

But now, his cast-iron nerve was starting to falter, his conscience was beginning to rankle like an itch beneath the skin. Rubbing his under-slept, shadowed eyes, Draco valiantly tried to ignore the way his carefully crafted web of lies and deceit wound itself around him _sometimes stopping you from breathing-_ like a suffocating coil, making his insides curdle with unexpected, unwanted shame.

_Please, please, stop it Draco, he doesn't deserve it at all, you're going to tear him apart when this ends, please, Draco, you don't have to do it, you don't, stop it, you know you can't-_

**Shut up. **

_Draco, listen, please, he's mad about you, can't you see, he loves-_

**Shut the fuck up! **

_… You wouldn't know love if it crawled up your arse and fucked you, Draco Malfoy._

Hissing in distress, Draco clawed at his chest maniacally when he felt a jagged pain _Voldemort's spell-_ slice through his heart like a stake. His compressed lips white with tension, the blond struggled to regain control of his breathing. Screwing his eyes shut, Draco began to calmly take even, composed breaths, drawing musty, balmy batchfuls of air in his lungs. Within a few minutes, he felt that taut, gritty pain in his chest move sluggishly and dissolve unwillingly.

**I have to do it-**

_Draco, you don't-_

**HE'LL KILL MY FAMILY! **

Exhaling sharply, Draco looked down at the letter that he was holding so loosely. Biting his lip uncertainly, he grasped it firmly with both hands. Both of his thumbs and forefingers were pressed together hesitantly, the sides of the letter clutched between them, as though he was going to tear the note apart, but…

His eyes darting shrewdly from his trunk to the tiny rips and splits snaking their ways down the letter, Draco felt himself relax his grip on the letter. Gulping rapidly, he looked over his shoulder into the darkness dubiously, as though_ Voldemort_ was right behind him, staring unnervingly at his every move. Quickly moving over to his trunk, he folded the letter up in an almost _tender_ fashion, before digging down to the very bottom of the trunk and slipping the love letter in _nothing but a rare slit of weakness-_ between the folds of his clothes, burying the note remorselessly under his school paraphernalia.

_Harry Potter is faithful to a fault._

_If only he knew where my true allegiances lie._

* * *

Harry was in heaven. Starburst after sexual starburst exploded behind his closed eyes as he felt his senses heighten in glorious technicolored pleasure. Burrowing his fingers in Draco's tangled hair, Harry nudged the blond's head closer, forcing Draco to take more of his cock in his mouth.

The bedsheets were alive with static as Harry panted out filthy expletives, each of his breaths shallow with desire. Cracking a bleary eye open, he directed his glazed, lustful leer to the other boy. Draco's slender, balletic body was bent slightly, his head bobbing up and down between Harry's legs, fingers splayed across Harry's bronzed and spread thighs, stroking and caressing his flushed skin. His full-lashed lids were dipping downwards, his eyes diamond-bright in the dark while he skillfully licked Harry to oblivion.

Harry's fevered imagination was conjuring up its usual parade of pornographic images, lighting up his internal furnace. The Gryffindor caressed the sides of Draco's face, feeling the supple flesh beneath his fingertips. And then when Draco fixed his trademark smoldering gaze on Harry's flustered, wild eyes, Harry felt himself hover tantalizingly on the brink of back-arching ecstasy for a mere second before he came, crying out Draco's name loudly.

Harry collapsed on the bed, boneless. The Slytherin pressed a trail of affectionate kisses starting from the brunette's inner thigh to his hipbone, and Harry couldn't help but gasp in sheer happiness. Sitting up and tugging Draco to him, Harry kissed Draco lovingly on the forehead. His palms glided comfortingly up and down Draco's thin, shapely forearms, and Harry smiled when he heard Draco let out a soft, content sigh. A flash of doubt zipped as fast as quicksilver in Harry's eyes before he bit his lip and whispered.

"Tonight."

Harry's tummy was raging with butterflies as he felt a hot blush creep up onto his cheeks. Staring at the wrinkled bedsheets, the Gryffindor suddenly felt so exposed and vulnerable. But Harry had been thinking about it obsessively for the past few days, and the desire to be with Draco, to surrender himself completely to him, was such a palpable, solid and physical force that was so irresistible-

With that one single word, the air was imbued with a mood of expectation and possibility. Draco gulped, threading his fingers through his tousled hair.

"There's no rush, you know-"

But before Draco could complete his sentence, Harry raised a finger and placed it gently on the blond's lips.

"_Please_."

Harry's smile was so bewitching, his passionate green eyes mischievous and lustful, but he couldn't disguise the way his stomach performed a double loop of nervous delight. His head was spinning with giddy excitement, fear and trepidation when Draco tenderly pushed Harry back to bed. Draco's eyes were wide with an expression of unadulterated joy, and Harry felt the blond's lithe limbs cover him like a guarding, comforting umbrella as Draco pressed his front to Harry's back. Long, expert fingers tip-toed teasingly down Harry's spine and the brunette felt his body convulse in paroxysms of delight.

Draco lowered his head and dropped a kiss on Harry's shoulder blades, and the Gryffindor could feel the knot of tension and agitation in his body slowly unwind and relax. Staring hard at the pillow, Harry bit his lip shyly _he's all I ever wanted- _when he felt Draco's erection brush temptingly against the back of his right thigh.

But when Draco was poised on top of Harry, a frightful, hideous, gleeful, almost inhumane gleam seeped into his sleek grey eyes, exactly like how a snake would look like before it delivered its killing blow.

**

It was a battle that had been dragging for too long. _But it didn't matter now, did it,_ Draco marveled triumphantly to himself as he withdrew his arm from a sleepy Harry. He could smell the sweet scent of success surrounding him like wreaths of joyous, festooning ribbons at a party. The binds around his cock had finally loosened and vanished without a trace, but the one on his heart still lingered irritatingly like a ghost. Draco didn't know why, but currently he didn't care because he was lavishing in his conquest, eagerly awaiting the compliments that would be lauded on him by Lord Voldemort.

Pasting a hypocritical grin _the last one you're going to get, Potter-_ on his face, the Slytherin wrapped his fingers_ maybe, he deserves a last goodnight-_ loosely around Harry's wrist. Grey eyes stared unblinkingly up in the ceiling covered with shifting shadows silhouetted in the moonlight as Draco calculated the best way to _finally_ dump Harry Potter once and for all.

_I'll fuck you, but I won't love you._

Harry couldn't wipe the goofy smile off his face. The harder he tried not to blush, the hotter his cheeks grew. A great bubble of happiness and fulfillment arose within him and he felt his heart expand adoringly with love. A niggle of doubt worried its way through Harry, though. He wished Draco could have been gentler with him, and the sex had almost been… mechanical and maybe… just a _bit_ emotionless. Frowning to himself, Harry shook his head vigorously to rid himself of those unwanted thoughts. _Draco was probably nervous_, Harry comforted himself while he pulled Draco closer and nuzzled contentedly into his chest.

_Look at him, beaming like that_, Harry thought elatedly as he gazed lovingly at the other boy.

But unbeknownst to Harry, Draco Malfoy, the alleged love of his life, the so-called apple of his eye, this questionable man of his dreams, had in actual fact already ruthlessly moved on, his mind clicking and spinning furiously, mentally penning his long-awaited victory letter to his parents.

_Harry Potter is so foolishly gullible._

_And this means that… I have won._

* * *

Adrenaline hummed in every nerve ending of his body as Harry bounded happily towards the lone, forlorn figure covered under the arched, protective branches of the tree. It had been a horrible day today, Harry thought morosely as he remembered how Ron and Hermione were sniping at each other, and of course, the tottering pile of school-work that the teachers heaped so mercilessly on them didn't help matters. But it was okay, because he had Draco's soft, lilting voice and soothing caresses to look forward to.

Beaming to himself, the Gryffindor plopped down to the ground beside Draco, enveloping the Slytherin in a squidgy hug, his heart swelling with joyful thoughts. Harry leant down and nipped affectionately at Draco's neck, expecting the blond to grin back and squeeze Harry in his arms.

However, Draco did not relax the ramrod tightness of his body.

Furrowing his brow questioningly, Harry withdrew from the other boy, worry enveloping him like a miasma.

"Draco, are you alright? You seem a bit… weird today. Was school horrible for you today, because it definitely was for me-"

"I would appreciate it greatly, _Potter_, if you would shut the _fuck _up for once. Merlin, your voice _bloody_ grates, do you know that?" Draco spit out, his tones crisp and chilly like iceberg lettuce.

Harry felt the initial adrenaline in his blood screech surprisingly to a halt and his heartbeat slowing down to a heavy, funereal crawl. The Gryffindor's lips curved up into a hesitant, tiny smile, his tongue running nervously inside his mouth. His voice shook unsteadily when he spoke, like a hopeful, young child trying to spell his name.

"If you're tired, maybe we could meet up tomorrow or something-"

"I don't want to meet up with you tomorrow night, the night after, or the next _week_! We're _done_, Potter!" Draco snarled in clipped staccato sentences, flinging an arm out to push Harry away. Standing up grandly and victoriously, Draco dusted off his clothes and bent down menacingly towards the other boy, a distasteful sneer twisted on his face. Harry flinched at the hatred in Draco's blazing eyes.

_He's dumping me, he's fucking dumping me_, Harry realized, feeling like he was petrified and plunged into an icy panic. Crazy, irrational thoughts whirled in Harry's mind, clicking and spinning so frantically that Harry had trouble keeping up. _Is it because of the sex, did I do something wrong, we can fix it, I'm sure, anything but this-_

"You s-said you would love me forever!" Harry whispered brokenly, his voice lowered to a horrified croak, his knuckles turning a shade of sickly white as he gripped _sudden storm on a sunny day-_ stray blades of grass. Why was Draco's voice, which used to murmur sweet nothings so effortlessly and affectionately, acting like a double-edged sword, spewing out jeers of dislike and disgust now?

"I love you forever, Potter. But forever is _over_," Draco bit out in a voice saturated with sugary condescension, his eyes round islands of contempt and a sunnily insincere smile pasted on his lips. It was the grand finale of a grand performance, and this was Draco's closing act as he took a bow. It was time for him to shed his masterpiece of a skin, exposing his true intentions after months of sugar-coated murmurs and deceitful kisses.

_Harry Potter is vulnerable._

_All the more delicious when I break him apart._

"Look at yourself in the mirror, Potter. Why would I stoop down to someone of _your_ standards?" Draco hissed tauntingly through lips the shade of frozen strawberries, and those eyes, those _eyes_ that Harry was so used to seeing brimming with warmth, were now blanketed in cold, unforgiving crystals. Every snarled word was like an icy slap to Harry's face, and desperate green eyes searched Draco's face, looking for a trace of affection, a hint of tenderness, _anything, please, anything, let it be a joke, just a joke-_

_Nothing._

But when Draco threw a last, lingering look at Harry, the brunette could detect a flash of something, of something so inscrutable in Draco's eyes that Harry felt that some part of Draco, some minute, _microscopic _part of Draco was hurting as much as _he_ was-

Getting wobbily up to his feet which had the strength of over-cooked spaghetti, Harry lunged at Draco, wrenching up his left sleeve, which was wrapped tightly around the blond's arm. Staring in utter shock and repulsion at Draco's arm, Harry let out a hollow, mirthless laugh. The Gryffindor dissolved into a heap on the ground, his saliva turning into sawdust. He had a sense of falling from a great height, like he had walked slap-bang into a wall.

There, reposing in all of its maniacal, macabre glory was the Dark Mark.

Comprehension dawned on Harry as he felt his scattered thoughts and senses come rushing back. All the caution, all the wariness… It didn't matter, did it? In the end, it was skilful, sly Draco Malfoy _you're nothing but a Death Eater's son-_ who had won, and naïve, foolish Harry Potter _does it feel better, darling-_ who lost.

_I wonder how it would feel to write love on his arms-_

Draco growled terrifyingly at Harry, yanking his sleeve back down, before he turned sharply on his heel and swiftly left the scene. Draco kept his legs moving on auto-pilot, although a tiny piece of him wanted to go back _it's alright, Harry, it's alright, I didn't mean it at all- _and comfort the grieving Gryffindor.

Draco's head snapped back in shock as he felt the rope around his heart suddenly tighten like a balled-up fist. Biting viciously on his bottom lip, ignoring the way his conscience hung like lead around his neck, Draco continued his rapid, monotonous pace back to the Slytherin dungeons.

Harry buried his head in his hands, feeling the dull ache of gathering tears and the darkness gathering around him. The sky was overcast, the threat of rain hovering dangerously in the cold night air. Searing, slashing betrayal _funny how he made you blind-_ ripped through his body and soul, and he leant back disbelievingly against the tree whose forlorn branches now drooped like limp, dead fingers, the tree which Draco had so lovingly and tenderly carved their initials together-

Jerking his body off the tree like it had the plague, a sobbing Harry clawed madly in a blind fury _feel that I'm crashing, but I don't know how it happened-_ at the initials, trying to scrape them off with his bare fingers. He didn't care if he bled, he didn't care if his fingernails tore from his cuticles, he didn't care if his hands ended up sore and frozen, he didn't even care when thunder splintered the sky in half and raindrops the size of heavy, thudding Galleons hurled in his face like gravel, he only wanted to forget the rose-tinted memories, the incoming pain, the heartbreak in store for him, the numbness and sheer denial of his mind-

_don't come any closer-_

_don't tell me it's over-_

_don't kiss me goodbye-_

* * *

He wondered if anyone would miss him if he just went and quietly drowned himself in the lake.

_But I guess this is second best,_ Harry thought miserably as he floundered in his pathetic bowl of self-pity in the showers. He pulled his knees closer to his chest, his naked body as hollow as a cheap Easter egg. The Gryffindor's hair was a riot of wet, snaky curls plastered to his forehead and his neck, each droplet of water pelting down on his quivering, grieving body like unrelenting hail.

He had spent the past week picking apart Draco's sentences, over-analyzing every word, every touch, the way Draco had told him everything that he had wanted to hear, stringing him along like a puppet.

_and you sold me-_

_now I don't know how I should feel-_

Curling himself up even tighter, the brunette let his curved fingers drag on the cool surface of the bathroom tiles. He had set everything on fire last night, trying to remove the aching hollowness that clutched at his stomach like a fist. He had incendio'ed Draco's pseudo-love letters, and he managed to squish down the second thoughts that he had before throwing the six flowers into the flames.

The blond's comforting scent had faded from the rose, and when Harry had tearfully brushed the glitter off the sunflower, the powder had ceased to re-form. But that wasn't enough proof for Harry. He had faithfully and mulishly went down to the tree every single night for the past week, hoping that perhaps, his wish would come true and Draco _once the cheerleader of my dreams-_ would be there waiting for him with his arms outstretched just like the old times, pretending that the heart-breaking exchange had never happened.

But everyone knows that wishes are nothing but hopeful shields to hide the tragic and raw fact of life.

So Harry had to succumb to his last resort, despising the way his wild green eyes scanned the Slytherin table during meal-times and classes, desperately wanting to catch Draco's eye, hoping for some sort of glance, some sort of sparkle that Harry would find familiar, to prove to himself that the last few months weren't a mere dream, but all he got was an imperiously-raised eyebrow and a smirk.

_Need something to glue your little heart back together, Potter?_

It was like Harry had been bouncing along happily on a cloud for the past few months, then all of a sudden landing on a tangle of barbed wires _everything that we had never meant a thing to you-._ Just like that, with that burning black mortar of a glare that Draco threw at him, Harry knew, beyond a doubt, that the faintest of faint hope that somehow, miraculously, they would be reconciled, had been obliterated.

Harry pressed his forehead to the wall, his fists uselessly banging on the hard, unforgiving surface of the tiles. Tears and jumbled thoughts were emerging from his muddled brain as he felt the scales fall from his eyes. Hot tears _with your empty heart and mine full of pain-_ seeped from his closed eyelids, every rounded drop weighted with rage and humiliation. His tears were streaming unheeded now, falling from his eyes to his weary, limp, exposed wrists, mingling with the water from the shower that had gradually turned cold. He had spent an abnormal period of time in the shower, trying oh-so-desperately to scrub off the warm fragrance of Draco's vanilla scent that hovered tantalizingly like the touch of a hand, but to no avail.

_I hold my breath-_

_because you were perfect-_

_but now I'm running out of air-_

His heart had been toyed with like a doll by a spiteful little girl, and now, as thunder gathered in Harry's heart, the Gryffindor realized that his hurt and agony had given way to murderous fury and blind despair. He had to pick himself up, dust himself down and channel his frustrations to the impending war looming ahead. Standing up, he squared his shoulders and was about to switch off the tap when-

_Say it, Harry. Say that you hate his guts. You don't love him anymore, do you? Say it, Harry._

Harry ran his tongue hesitantly over his lips.

_Only when you dare to say it then it becomes true-_

But those words were dancing on the tip of his tongue, out of reach, words that he couldn't say aloud no matter how hard he tried, because a sliver of him steadfastly believed that _just_ maybe Draco-

The brunette ignored the way resignation thundered in his blood like filthy, pestilent rats pouring down a drain. Shutting off the water, Harry closed his eyes and took a handful of deep breaths, gently testing his emotional cuts and scrapes, relieved to discover that they had begun, albeit slowly and surely, to scab over.

Stalking out of the shower _forever is over-_ and toweling himself with more force _I want you to hurt as much as me, I want to watch you scream and cry, Malfoy-_ than was necessary, Harry let his lips crack into an uncharacteristic chilly, vengeful smile that _didn't reach all the way up to his eyes_.

_I'll see you on the way to hell, Draco Malfoy._

* * *

"So I see that you have accomplished your mission, Draco."

It was the end of sixth year, and the Malfoys were back in the Malfoy Manor, together with Voldemort. Pursing his lips frostily, Draco nodded solemnly.

"You have done a job worthy of praise, Draco. It was such a treat to taunt and tease Potter with those memories that you so skillfully planted into his mind," Voldemort said with relish. "But I wonder, Draco, maybe, just_ maybe_, a small part of you surrendered to him too? No, no, Draco, there's no need for you to answer. I can _see_ it for myself."

With that, Voldemort flicked his wand off-handedly, and Draco could feel the constraint around his heart loosen and finally, _finally_ release him from its unrelenting pincer-like grip. Breathing a sigh of overdue relief, the blond closed his eyes for a split second before beaming at his parents' delighted faces. This was the moment that he had been waiting for, the time to recognize all the efforts and ingenuity that Draco had to employ in order to complete the task. The applause, the victory, the reward was so _close_, so close that he could almost _taste_ it…

Draco felt the smile slide off his face when Voldemort's expression turned from pleased to stormy. "You were flawless in every aspect, except for one simple thing that you very sadly and regretfully overlooked. You failed to _shield your heart_. Such a shame, really, such a shame…" Voldemort trailed off in mock sadness as he raised his wand, and Draco could feel that hateful, spiteful ribbon wrap _a blind fairy tale, happy ending gone wrong-_ around his heart yet again.

Draco bridled, drawing himself up haughtily with whatever shreds of pride that remained.

"But I gave you what you wanted! I took Potter's virginity!" Draco cried, hating the tell-tale whine in his tone.

Voldemort's eyes were now a contemptuous, ferocious red blaze. "Ah, yes, you did, Draco. But you forget what I said to you last year. Your allegiance to _me _had wavered. You felt pity for him, you felt affection for him, and I daresay that when you said those lines of oh-so-saccharine nonsense to him, maybe a miniscule part of you… _meant_ it?"

Draco flushed with red-hot, heart-beating shame, his face flooding with a mortified, sizzling red, his angry grey eyes staring at his shoes like a chastised little boy. Voldemort stepped down from his throne and glided towards Draco.

"I had expected something like this to happen, Draco. Just like how your _father_," At this point, Voldemort threw a dirty glance at a quaking Lucius, "Just like how your father blundered the acquiring of the prophecy. You have _failed_, Draco. And now you will have to _pay _for it in the _worst _way possible."

The discomfort in his heart was suddenly magnified twelve-fold, and Draco staggered back from the sheer force of it, little stars whirling in his woozy sight. The waves of pain radiating from his heart gripped him remorselessly and unexpectedly, dulling his vision and mind as they grew in intensity.

"I wonder… I wonder how it would feel for you to love _and_ hate Potter at the same time, Draco. I wonder how it would feel when you rot your life away like an empty shell, those two _deliciously_ strong emotions jostling for supremacy in your broken mind and ruptured heart. I wonder how much you would… _regret_."

Each word was like an infected fang digging into his skin, Voldemort's clipped speech sending chills of fear down his spine. Hot sweat streamed down the sides of Draco's face, and his blurry eyes failed to focus on the horrified looks on his parents' faces and Voldemort's sneering features. All he could see was Harry_Harry_**Harry**HARRY, those lovely, precious memories that they shared bubbling pleasantly up to the surface like surprisingly gentle lava-

_"I'm just asking you to give me… one chance."_

_"I love you forever, Harry."_

_"May I kiss you?"_

But there was another voice, another louder, shriller, banshee-like voice that resounded in Draco, mangling and slashing and lacerating and ripping and tearing the happiness and warmth that had been gradually spreading through his splintered mind-

"**-push him up against the sodding wall and rape him."**

"**stuff the flowers down Potter's throat-"**

"**I can't believe I kissed Potter-"**

The heat and conflict that those recollections brought back penetrated down to the core of Draco's very bones, and he stared wildly at the contempt seeping into Voldemort's eyes. Draco tried to ignore the nest of foreshadowing, squirming snakes in his stomach when Voldemort spoke again.

"The concept of possession and evil eludes you, poor Draco. You can try to exorcise your heart, outrun your demons, but it would only be a matter of time before the newly-hatched monster within you tears you apart. It would seek you out, flay you alive, torture you in ways that you _cannot_ even imagine with your pathetic, closeted mind, Draco," Voldemort crooned horribly, reaching out a hand to stroke Draco's trembling face.

Jolting himself out of his watery world of shock and horror, Draco immediately batted Voldemort's arm away viciously like it was a reflex action, and before he knew what he was doing, the blond hissed out in cold, calculating tones that could rival Voldemort himself.

"Don't you dare touch me with your _filthy_ hands, you sick _bastard_."

_because only Harry can touch me, no one but Harry-_

Clapping his palm to his mouth, his eyes brimming with terror, Draco retreated from Voldemort until the blond's back was pressed up against the wall. "I d-d-didn't mean it! I don't know w-what made me s-say it!" Draco gabbled idiotically, all sense of control and composure tossed to the wind. A myriad of emotions were plunging through him like white-hot knives, and he didn't know _what_ to think.

_Harry, Harry, I love you so much, I do, oh I do, I wonder if you love me too-_

**God, I hate Potter so fucking much, I want to hear his heart breaking again like glass- **

"Oh, I am not angry, Draco. This is proof that the curse is implemented and working," Voldemort declared triumphantly as he spun sharply on his heel, turning his back on a quivering Draco. Crumpling weakly down to the floor, Draco chanced a glimpse at his parents.

Both of their faces were chalk-white, taut with strain, their famous Malfoy poise slipping off like a coat. Narcissa's platinum hair glowed like white fire around her agitatedly shaking head, and her legs looked like they were about to give out anytime. Lucius slid an arm around his wife's shoulders, supporting her waif-like, unstable frame.

The room was spinning around Draco now, tilting crazily like some sort of sadistic fairground ride. Pure, sheer panic flared in the blond's stomach. He had never seen his parents so destroyed and deranged, and for the first time in his life, he was _scared, afraid_ of what horrors were waiting in the wings for him, biding its time to rear its ugly head, blurring the line between nightmare and reality-

Lucius's lips were pressed thin, incandescent with rage and emotion, and when he addressed Voldemort; he had to muster all of his ebbing energy to keep the quaver out of his voice.

"Am I to believe that you placed our only son, eventual heir to the staggering Malfoy fortune, under the Incarceramour curse?"

Turning his cool, disdainful glare to Lucius, Voldemort smiled eerily, his voice smooth as cream.

_"Yes."_

Narcissa let out a ghastly little wail, her worst fears _death sentence, nothing but a long, painful, drawn-out death sentence-_ confirmed as she slumped down carelessly to the floor, her head buried dismally in her hands. Narcissa's shoulders were shaking uncontrollably while she sobbed, each heart-wrenching cry like a poisoned dagger sliding inch by inch under Draco's ribs. All the blood had drained from Lucius's face, and he sank weakly into a nearby chair, his trembling fingers stroking Narcissa's tousled hair.

A slide show of treachery and lies flitted in Draco's mind, rattling in his brain like beans in a jar. He was reeling down a far-away precipice of horror _what's the Incarceramour curse, what is it, tell me, please!_ His parents, the very people that he drew strength from, already looked so damned and defeated. They couldn't help him now, they couldn't stop these conflicting voices that invaded every fibre of Draco's being, those despising hisses circling in his mind like hungry, vindictive Dementors ready to pounce, this dank, sudden darkness that descended on him like the intimidating, unrelenting cloak of a treacherous kidnapper.

"Kill me. Please," Draco croaked out to Voldemort, his eyes a mixture of pleading and desperation.

_hide those sharp knives, that little bottle of poison-_

"Oh, I would, but where's the _fun_ in that? Enjoy the first day of the rest of your pitiful, wretched life, Draco Malfoy," Voldemort murmured in a lullaby-tone. Slit, gleeful red eyes swept through the whole Malfoy family, absorbing the utter collapse of Lucius and Narcissa, to the horrified face of young Draco, whose fingers were scrabbling weakly on the floor, his forearms taut with anguish. Draco's back was pressed so desperately close against the wall, as though he could break free and run away from the voices _dripping with love and hate, oh those hateful sing-song voices-_ coiled up like a python poised to kill. His legs were frantically pushing away imaginary fiends, the heels of his feet scraping fruitlessly on the floor, his eyes wide with impending doom.

_Oh, how the mighty have fallen,_ Voldemort smirked to himself as he slithered out of the room, slamming the door behind him with a finality that chilled all three Malfoys to the bone.

_clawing their way out of the aftermath of senseless hell-_

Tension hummed like a high-voltage wire as Draco lifted round, defenseless eyes up to his parents. Lucius's body was visibly vibrating with agitation, the lines on his face more pronounced than ever. Narcissa's face was buried despondently in her husband's shoulder, hiding from the cold, harsh truth of reality that was thrown in her face like a bucket of ice water, hoping that she wouldn't have to face up to the grisly fact that her _son_, her precious, _darling_ son-

_Oh, Merlin, Incarceramour-_

Lucius's gaze mirrored the disbelief and terror _it's only the beginning, Draco, it's going to be so much more worse-_ that reflected in Draco's stare. This watchful silence that father and son shared un-nerved the younger Malfoy, and Draco wanted to run over to his parents, throw himself in their arms _because maybe, they can make the voices all go away-_ and their love, but an unwanted piece of awareness had lodged itself into the undercurrents of Draco's sloshing brain:

_Only Harry can help me._

_Only Harry can save me._

_Only Harry can-_

His heart was screeching now, a scream of a soul in purgatory, tiny slivers of his precious sanity like smoke slipping through his useless, hopeless fingers bit by bit. Draco felt the ceaseless curtain of misty depression begin to descend upon him, refusing to dissipate however much he tried to wish it away. An overwhelming spasm of loss, desperation and sheer, black desolation languished luxuriously on his shoulders, but as long as he thought of _Harry_ it was okay, _Harry_ would tear apart all his fears single-handedly, _Harry_ would be his savior-

_Treasure your memories, Draco Malfoy, because one day, they'll be the only things you'll have left._

And then Draco started to weep for his parents, for heart-broken Harry, for _himself_, inhumane, blood-curdling sobs tearing from his dry, heaving throat as he clung onto those glorious, beautiful memories of _Harry smilinglaughingcuddlingnuzzling**loving**_- like a limpet while he started to painfully nurse the tattered remains of his conscience. The extent of the damage that Voldemort had done sunk axe-like into his mind-

_like I'll never be cheerful again-_

Swiping roughly at his eyes, Draco stared unseeingly at his hands and his fingers which suddenly seemed so foreign and alien, _this _pair of hands which had _touched_ Harry, _comforted_ Harry, _caressed_ Harry, the boy who the blond now hated and loved with a passion so fierce, so violent, so destructive that it threatened to explode into smithereens within Draco's frail, brittle body-

Draco's voice sank to an agonized whisper, biting out reluctant and resistant apologies _that felt so wrong but yet so right-_ that were lost in the swirling sands of time, crying tears etched with silver lies that simply _refused_ to stop-

_There's a place in the devil's playground with your name on it, darling Draco._

_You won't be ready now, not one month later, not even a year later._

_But I'll be waiting oh-so-patiently for you, Draco my love, the sweetest, the fairest and the most beautiful of them all._

* * *

**/to be continued, details about Incarceramour next chapter/ **


	3. Poison's Redemption

**Defiled by xErised**

* * *

The flames in the Room of Requirement were nothing but pure, bone-melting heat. Wrapping his arms tighter around an unconscious Goyle, Draco bit his lip and looked up frantically, hoping that Harry was out there looking for him, waiting to save him, because he knew, deep down that _Harry _won't abandon him to die like this, burnt and flayed alive by the blazing snakes and spitting Chimaeras that weren't all that different from the monsters in his own wretched and splintered mind-

**Why? Why would he save you? Are you worth it? What are you to him? **

_He'll come, I promise, I promise, he will! He loves you, remember!_

And then Draco could feel the pain again, pain like a thousand whips ripping across his heart, breaking it into a million distorted, broken pieces. _I won't die here, not here, not now,_ Draco whimpered as he screwed his eyes shut and let out a thin, piteous human scream when the consuming agony radiated all the way down to the tips of his toes and the edge of his fingertips. Hot sweat dripped from his forehead to his eyes, and he hurriedly swiped the droplets away with the back of his hand. Curling himself up into a ball even tighter, he tried to keep as still as possible. The tower of desks supporting Goyle and him could give way any second-

_And he couldn't let that happen, no, not before he saw Harry, touched Harry, heard him, **loved** him-_

Biting back a sob, Draco felt the flames eat their way venomously and swiftly towards both Slytherins, solid fire closing in upon them on all sides, surrounding them, leaving them with no way out. Lifting his eyes up, the blond gasped as he saw Harry dive towards them on a rickety, heavy-looking broomstick. He felt Goyle sliding out of his arms towards Ron and Hermione, and Draco simply stared at Harry, stunned, trying to regain his senses _I haven't been so close to him for so long, oh God, he's just as beautiful as ever-_ in such heavenly perfection.

Their sweaty, damp hands touched, and Draco felt his skin tingle with pleasurable delight when Harry hoisted him up to the broomstick and sped away. Turning his head, Draco could see the fragile pagoda of tables that had held their weight just mere seconds ago tumbling _so close, so close-_ into the eager flames.

The fire licked and lapped at them remorselessly, swirling and dancing wildly, like the skirt of an uncontrollable flamenco dancer. Draco buried his head in the crook of Harry's neck, his fingers tracing the exquisite musculature of Harry's shoulders. He felt the Gryffindor stiffen, but Draco didn't seem to notice, because this was _Harry_ that he was hugging, _Harry_ that he was holding-

_you can have my heart and we'll share it like the last slice-_

His body thrumming with anticipation, Draco closed his eyes and let the brunette saturate his senses. Trailing his fingers up to the nape of Harry's neck, Draco tried to memorize the way Harry's flushed and heated skin felt beneath his own shaking fingers, under his thin, trembling lips as Draco dipped his head to kiss and nip affectionately at the other boy's neck. He tried to memorize how Harry tasted, how _black_ Harry's hair was, those gorgeous brunette locks gleaming like liquorice, and most importantly, how Harry smelt, that precious, subtle scent that was life-giving oxygen to Draco, that scent that made Draco want to keep breathing it in even though his lungs were gasping, telling him that it was time to breathe _out_-

Draco moaned with elation as he wrapped his arms around Harry's abdomen and squeezed, desperate to feel every inch, every muscle in Harry's body. His stomach was a storm-tossed sea of undiluted hunger, zingy shivers darting down Draco's spine as he shifted on the broomstick, pulling the brunette closer to him, so _close_ until he was so sure that Harry could feel his _heart_ beating, throbbing like a pneumatic drill-

_Malfoy was holding Harry so tightly that it hurt-_

Harry tried to shrug Draco away by throwing his shoulders back, but Draco was fastened onto him like a barnacle on the hull of a boat, inert and stationary. It was a ridiculous feeling, Harry thought, gulping nervously. He felt light-headed like he had spent too long on a spinning fairground ride; the way _Draco_ was touching him, this oh-so-_physical_ touch that made _those_ memories erupt passionately _no longer a dormant volcano-_ through the surface. Draco's warm breath was circling Harry's ear, sending his nervous system into a frenzy. Harry's furiously pumping blood began to do some sort of strange happy dance when the blond slid his lips down the length of Harry's neck, pulling down the collar of Harry's robes to kiss more of Harry's flesh, and the Gryffindor cried out loud, feeling the voluptuous slither of skin against skin-

_Does it feel better, darling?_

Suddenly, Harry felt Draco's mouth open wide before the blond bit down hard on Harry's shoulder, sinking his teeth unexpectedly into Harry's flesh. The brunette hissed in pain and he snapped his head back, throwing a dirty glare at Draco. The blond's eyes were brimming with sheer hatred and disgust, his upper lip curled in derision and distaste as he met Harry's glare head-on.

_Look at yourself in the mirror, Potter-_

Harry shook his head _he's just fucking with you-_vigorously and concentrated on the task at hand. Tightening his grip on the broomstick, he stared straight ahead, and he caught a glimmer of the old, discolored tiara-

Draco felt like pushing Harry off the broomstick and letting him burn to death. The Slytherin's heart, which had been beating so joyously with affection and love, had flip-flopped down to his stomach. His unpredictable mood _torn and broken in the shadows-_ had done a complete turn, his emotions beginning to start its spiraling descent into his own personal hell-

**I hope Potter dies, I want to be the one to do it- **

Grinning maliciously to himself, Draco's fingers stealthily snaked up from the back of Harry's neck, all the way up to the curve of his scalp. They didn't have much time now, they were speeding towards the exit. Taking hold of a bunch of Harry's hair, the blond curled his fingers and viciously yanked the Gryffindor's head back, jerking his chin up and exposing the tan, bronzed expanse of Harry's throat. His other hand was reaching up, skimming upwards from Harry's chest, circling around Harry's neck, strangling-

The brunette tried to nudge Draco away, but he had to steer the broomstick too, and he was afraid that Draco would fall into fiery death. But Harry couldn't move his head; he could only stare at the other boy, wondering what was wrong with him, why Draco's actions and emotions were see-sawing from one spectrum to the next-

_What are you doing, Draco?! What are you doing to Harry?!_

The windmills of Draco's mind screeched with panic when realization gradually dawned on him. Immediately letting go of a choking Harry, Draco held back a whimper and instantly embraced Harry again, holding Harry so tightly like how a dying man would grasp at a glistening life-line, but they were nearing the door already, he had to tell Harry that he didn't mean to, he didn't mean any of it-

_I'll die in flames for you-_

Straightening up and hoping that his voice was working, Draco leant in nearer to a disoriented Harry. His breath shallow with worry and self-loathing, the blond's word came out in nothing but a dry, brittle croak, almost indiscernible amongst the roaring of the fire and the crackling and burning of items in the Room.

"Inc-carceramour…"

But Harry seemed not to hear him. Bending forward, Harry gave the broom one mighty, final push and it wasn't long before both boys tumbled out of the Room, their mouths drawing in much-needed lungfuls of fresh air. Harry immediately threw Draco off the broom and took a few steps away from the other blond, warily remembering how Draco's hands had locked down on his neck. Draco's sense of balance left him completely, and he toppled down _coming down to earth-_ on the floor weakly, emotionally and physically drained by the ordeal.

_Harry Potter is nothing but a fucking hero._

_I want to scoff. I want to laugh. But I... can't._

Both boys looked at each other, their gaze snagging and hanging in the air, as delicate as a vulnerable, perfect dewdrop on a single blade of grass. The blond's blood was fizzing like firewhiskey in his veins as he admired the way Harry's tanned skin glowed, exuding welcoming warmth. Draco's eyeballs were clamped on Harry, mesmerized and unwavering as the blond's eyes licked Harry, trying to memorize this very moment, this moment as fragile and feeble as a cobweb, storing and scanning it in his mind like a Muggle computer, because he didn't know when he would see Harry next-

The silence that ensued was alive with intensity, crackling with electric current. The tendons on Harry's neck were standing out aggressively like rope cords. Harry took in the white pallor of the Slytherin's thin face, his singed robes and his fingers, blackened with soot and ash. Draco felt his heart do a little jump when the stiffness in Harry's shoulders relaxed, and his mouth, which had been flat and unrelenting like a switched-off life support machine, begin to quirk up quizzically at a corner.

Draco pushed himself up on his elbows and sat up like a little boy, a small, hopeful smile playing on his lips. He knew that Harry was going to walk over, ask him whether he was okay, whether he was alright, _because he loves you-_

But at that second, the diadem from Harry's wrist began to vibrate violently and break apart in his hands, and then Harry heard the scream of pain from Voldemort's Horcrux-

_Voldemort._

Squaring his shoulders, the brunette shuddered when he remembered the Dark Mark on Draco's once-perfect arm. Harry narrowed his eyes at Draco venomously and spun sharply on his heel, stalking off towards the direction of Hermione and Ron.

The smile died on Draco's lips, but a small part of him felt that it didn't matter at all, because every detail, everything that had transpired in the Room of Requirement had been indelibly stamped into his brain.

He didn't know how long this particular memory would sustain him and keep the demons in his head at bay. For a month? For a week? But Draco didn't care, because all he could do now was to cling desperately on the glorious, lovely fact that Harry had risked his own life to save _him_.

_And for now, that was enough._

* * *

The sky was a happy-go-lucky blue daubed with innocent pillows of fluffy white cloud. Gulls swooped and cooed overhead, basking in the alluring caress of the sun. A gentle breeze fluttered, ruffling the crowns of the nearby trees, bestowing a glittering yellow quality to the lush leaves. The brilliant sunshine was full of sparkle and promise, and Harry wrapped his hands tighter around his mug of tea and grinned affectionately at Ron and Hermione.

The trio was in the kitchen of The Burrow, their mouths split into happy beams as they talked and joked whimsically. The painful memories of the war, which had concluded a few weeks ago, had been buried in the corner of their minds, an unpleasant chapter in their life which they had gotten through successfully. The three of them were more than eager to forget everything about the battle and move on with their life. Hermione smiled at both boys before lifting her cup to her lips and sipping her drink primly.

But there was still something bothering Harry. The brunette gulped and took a shaky swig of his tea before clearing his throat and speaking, breaking the companionable silence.

"What's Incarceramour?" Harry asked as casually as he could, his tongue tripping over the foreign word.

Ron and Hermione stared back blankly at him.

"That day, in the Room of Requirement, when I saved Malfoy from the Fiendfyre, he… he whispered that word to me. He seemed quite _mad_, actually. Holding onto me so tight, and… _touching_ me all over," Harry explained, trying with difficulty to keep his voice neutral.

"Touching you?!" Ron exclaimed in horror as he made a gagging sound.

Hermione's head was bowed in concentration; her eyes scrunched shut and her fingers snapping while she tried to make the connection in her mind. "Incarceramour, Incarceramour, I remember reading about it somewhere… It's something Dark, very Dark, oh _my_!" Hermione squealed. Pushing her chair back, she quickly scuttled out of the kitchen and mounted the staircase towards the rooms in the Burrow without a backwards glance.

Harry and Ron blinked questioningly at each other, nonplussed. Harry couldn't help but feel a small thread of adrenaline rise up in him. _Finally, some answers._

Hermione hurried back into the kitchen with a thick, leather-bound tome clutched in her hands. Not bothering to sit down, she quickly gave her index finger a swift lick and riffled the worn pages wildly. Ron ducked his head to peek at the cover and it didn't take him long to recall that this was one of the books that Hermione took during their year-long journey to destroy the Horcruxes.

"_Secrets of the Darkest Art_?! Hermione, why is it still with you?! Aren't you supposed to return it to Hogwarts?"

"This book would be handy if any one of us chooses to pursue a career as an Auror. Besides, we don't want anyone to find out how to create a Horcrux again, Ron. Oh, it's definitely here somewhere…" Hermione trailed off distractedly, her deft eyes scanning each chapter at lightning speed.

Harry felt his heart plummet like a dropped anchor. He swallowed nervously and ran a hand through his unruly hair. _Darkest Art… It can't be anything good…_

"Here it is! Incar… Incarceramour! It's a… love spell, Harry," Hermione said, her voice dropping a notch. Tucking loose strands of hair behind her ear, Hermione continued to graze the pages of the tome, her expression becoming more and more aghast by the second.

"Love spell? What does it do? Makes Malfoy cut out clippings of Harry and moon over them? Trace Harry's name out in little squiggly hearts on parchment? I think Malfoy deserves more than a _lurve_ spell," Ron snorted derisively, rolling his eyes.

"What, you mean… Dra- Malfoy's in _love_ with me?" Harry chortled, a bubble of hysterical laughter rising to his lips. But his laugh seemed _just_ a bit forced, his smile_ just_ a bit glued on. There was a strange hollow churning sensation gripping his stomach, and the brunette tried to ignore the way anxiety skittered like a squirrel in him.

"No, Harry, it's… it's much, _much_ worse than that. I… I don't know how to explain this, but… Malfoy hates _and_ loves you at the same time. It's horrible, Harry. No decent person would wish this on their worst enemy," Hermione said, throwing a pointed glance at Ron.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione recited a paragraph from the book. "The pain is bearable when the curse is cast, but the intensity of the memories and emotions will increase for the months to come if the object of the victim's affection does not return his feelings. The mind will eventually overtake the body, until the sufferer has no choice but to-" Hermione suddenly grinded to a halt, her eyes wide and round with shock.

"But to what, Hermione? _What_?!" Harry was sitting as taut as a bow now, an avalanche of muddled emotions warring within him. Malfoy was suffering, exactly what Harry wanted in sixth year, but this curse… this _curse_ which sounded so destructive and gruesome that even Ron blanched when he stood up and looked at the pages of the book over Hermione's shoulder.

Harry wanted to grab the tome from Hermione and read it for himself, but it was as though his strength was sapped from him bit by bit. A black tide of remembered misery _did you get what you deserved-_ welled up inside Harry. The muscles of the brunette's forearm were quivering agitatedly beneath his skin while he gripped his mug of tea so hard until the skin near his fingernails turned a constricted bright yellow.

"Until the victim has no choice but to surrender his soul, answering the final beckon of death," Hermione finished grimly, her voice wobbling precariously. The last uttered word hung like a condemned wraith over the trio, clamping down on the light-hearted mood like a vise.

_will he find solace in death-_

"He belongs to you now, Harry. Every single part of him, his heart, his mind, his body, his soul," Hermione's voice was nothing but a mere whisper. She lowered the book, gazing into the brunette's astonished green eyes.

"B-But who would do this to him?!" Harry stuttered out, but even before he finished the question, he had a sinking feeling that he already knew the answer.

"Chances are that it was Voldemort. If it really was Voldemort that cursed Malfoy, he… he only has roughly two years to live, at the most. The power of the wizard that casts the spell is proportional to the magnitude of the curse."

Harry stubbornly shook his head like a petulant child, his hands balled up into obstinate fists. He refused to believe anything that Hermione was saying. "There's got to be some way out! Voldemort's _dead_! Won't the curse be lifted?"

"No. There's only two ways to help Malfoy now. Either Harry has to die-"

"No _way_, mate!" Ron exclaimed sharply.

"Or you have to spend the rest of your life with him, like a proper… lover. But the nature of the curse is extremely volatile. This involves raw, powerful human emotions, Harry. If you choose to… love him, he could break your heart anytime because he hates you, or he could simply reciprocate your affections, but you would never know when that love will dry up, leaving nothing but the hate. No one will know what's going to happen, Harry," Hermione elaborated further, each word heavy and grave.

_Malfoy had almost strangled him in the Room-_

"But right now, what he's feeling, what the rest of his life will be is simply a fate _worse_ than death," the witch continued morosely, lifting her eyes off the book.

This new deluge of information pressed down on Harry like solid concrete. His thoughts were ricocheting in what felt like a million directions, and Harry ran his tongue inside his mouth, feeling that his saliva had turned to sawdust.

_I love you forever, Harry._

Harry valiantly tried to control the whole ocean of longing that flooded out, vast and uncontrollable. It was what he'd always wanted all along, Draco's love, but… but not like _this_-

_But forever is **over**._

Shaking himself out of a daze that enveloped like a stifling duvet, Harry unglued his tongue from the roof of his mouth and queried softly. "What if- what if I choose not to do anything?"

"Some of the victims of the curse starve and waste away, some of them become deranged-" Hermione replied carefully, but Harry knew that she was hiding the worst prognosis.

"What happens to most of them?" Harry cut her off impatiently, trying to ignore the way the hollow spot in his heart that Draco had sliced out trembled and thumped.

"They… end up killing themselves."

With that, Hermione flipped the large book around and placed it on the table with a loud thud, sliding it slowly towards Harry. The brunette licked his lips twitchily, before tearing his gaze from Hermione's solemn expression and glancing at the compendium.

His petrified green eyes were immediately drawn like magnets to the crude, disturbing diagrams on the brittle, yellowed pages. Each sketch was the epitome of violence, each death savage and demonic, chilling Harry to the bone. Clawed, broken fingers gripping bloodied daggers slitting arteries, enraged eyes pleading for mercy, mouths a never-closing circle of twisted screeches, nothing but maniacal, macabre maws of hysteria, gurgling desperate, treacherous gulps of potent, fuming poison, and so many, so _many_ pictures of decomposing, rotting, maggoty bodies that had died, _forsaken and abandoned-_

_He's screaming, he's crying for you, he belongs wholly to you now, Harry._

_Isn't this what you've always wanted?_

**_Isn't it?_ **

Harry had seen enough; he slammed the book close with a bang. Jerking his head up a fraction, he looked at Ron and Hermione, who shared his expression of utmost incredulity and consternation. Harry opened his mouth to stutter, but closed it when he realized that he had nothing more to say. The two of them couldn't help him to decide what ultimately to do.

That choice depended on him, and him alone.

_incarcerate: to imprison_

_amour: love_

_incarceramour: to imprison with love_

* * *

Draco stared numbly at the food that his mother had left for him. Blinking groggily, the blond uncurled his weary, shrunken body and crawled pathetically on the floor towards the basket that was crammed to the brim with staples like bread and cold cuts. Reluctantly lifting up a leaden arm to tug the hamper down from the table, Draco fished out a loaf of bread. Not bothering to cut it or slather it with butter, something that he used to do, he simply tore chunks of crusty bread with his bare fingers and fed them slowly into his mouth. Moving his jaws seemed to require a gargantuan effort, and Draco ended up painfully swallowing the too-large lump of mushy bread after a handful of munches.

**What's the point of eating, Draco? It'll be so easy to starve to death, just like how you're starved of his affections, oh you poor, poor thing- **_Eat, Draco, please! He'll come to save you, you know he will, you want to be strong for him, don't you-_

The basket of food was nothing but a physical reminder of how helpless and weak he had become, not being able to do the basic chore of finding his own food. Some days he wouldn't eat at all, but instead gulp down gallons of water, hoping to cleanse and wash away the voices and the _very thought_ of Harry. His taste buds were numbed; it didn't matter at all what he ate. He could be presented with a bowl of scrumptious soup bursting with herbs and flavor, and it would taste as bland and passionless as mineral water.

It had been seven months after the episode at the Room of Requirement. The days and weeks ahead bled into each other, long and sluggish. Closing his eyes lazily, Draco mechanically ate half of the bread, before he gave up and dragged himself back into his room, not bothering to clean up after him.

Draco had continued to stay at the Manor after the war, but even though Narcissa and Lucius tried to nurse Draco back to health with the best of their ability, they could feel that Draco was enveloped in his little bubble of a world, sliding and slithering away from them with every passing day. But the both of them had gritted their teeth and soldiered on, showing their son that he would _never_ be abandoned by them, no matter how broken and _isolated _Draco would eventually become.

Draco had tried to appreciate every single thing that his parents did, but he could feel that it wasn't working, _nothing_ was working, all of this emotion, this _gnawing, debilitating_ pain that chewed at him mercilessly, was struggling to blow up the tissue of lies_ I'm okay, please don't worry-_ that the blond uttered all the time, threatening to endanger everyone-

_"Draco, you're bleeding!"_

_"Mother, leave me alone, please-"_

_"No!"_

_"What the fuck, why did you touch me, **no one **can touch me except for Harry, no one-"_

_"Draco, please-"_

_"What's wrong with you?! Are you retarded? God, leave me alone! Stop touching me!"_

And then Draco had lost complete control, failing to rein in his temper, which he always kept so carefully in check. He had launched himself at his mother, his _own, beloved_ mother, scratching and clawing and screaming and tearing, nothing but a whirlwind of pure madness, at her beautiful, porcelain face and her long, elegant, aristocratic neck-

Narcissa had screwed her eyes shut, swallowing her pain and tears bravely while she let her own son attack her _because maybe, it would make him feel better-_ like a wild animal. Until Lucius had thundered down from the steps in a homicidal fit of rage and pushed Draco away, cradling his bloodied and shattered wife protectively in his arms.

_"What have **you** done, Draco?!"_

Draco staggered back, staring at his hands, blood and skin caked under his unkempt fingernails. He gazed at his weeping mother _with bruises_ _purple and red on her face like lipstick scrawled over white paper-_ and his horrified father, and he felt that he was a monster, nothing but an insane demon. Draco knew that he was spiraling out of control, and he was scared, so scared that he would _kill his own parents with his own bare hands-_

That night, Draco had padded over to his parents' bedroom, his head hung in remorse and utter self-disgust. Under Lucius's wary, watchful eye, Draco had sank to his knees beside Narcissa and held his mother's shaking hands between his own, trying to ignore how his skin scorched and bubbled like hot molten lava. He stayed like that for a long time, his mouth uttering words of sorrow while he cried, begging for forgiveness, promising that it would never happen again.

The next morning, Draco had packed his things, located a tiny, abandoned apartment in Muggle London and moved in there. No matter how much his parents had pleaded for him to return, Draco had shook his head steadfastly and dug his heels in, refusing to torture his beloved parents any longer.

One day, Lucius had sat Draco gently down and murmured tentatively to him, each word sounding forced and rehearsed.

_"Have you… have you tried contacting Potter? Maybe he could be of assistance-"_

_"Father, I can't-"_

_"Just try, Draco, please-"_

_"I destroyed him in sixth year. He won't-"_

Draco knew how desperate Lucius had to be to suggest Draco to seek help from Potter. Lucius, always mindful of his pride, had never been one for dramatic, loving gestures, and Draco was grateful for that concession that spoke volumes. Draco had then smiled at his father, his lips turning up into a weak grin that was as rare as gold dust.

His parents dropped by the apartment every single day to check on Draco. Narcissa would always purse her lips in despair whenever she saw the amounts of untouched food that she had brought in the day before, before stubbornly replacing it with a fresh cradle of food. She always harbored a glimmer of longing that her son would start eating properly _to save himself-,_ but with every single day, that precious, delusional hope seemed to fade just a little bit more.

Draco used to take pleasure in leaving his puny home and walking in the sunshine, where he blended into obscurity with the nameless and faceless pedestrians in the streets. His hands jammed deep into his pockets, his head hanging low, Draco would continue to put one foot in front of the other like a monotonous sleepwalker. By doing this, he could pretend, for a few short glorious hours that he was just like any other normal person, not cursed by this spell that would eventually kill him after months of torment.

Sometimes he would walk for hours to nowhere, sometimes he would stop in a café, order a meal for two and act as though he was waiting for Harry, sometimes he would simply throw himself on a park bench and stare unblinkingly at the other regular couples _half plus half equals one-_ wrapped lovingly and comfortingly in each other's arms. It was at times like these when Draco felt like a poor little boy with his nose pressed against the windows _always on the outside looking in-_ of a tantalizing confectionery shop. And then he would stubbornly tell himself that he _will_ see Harry again, that he _will_ hear Harry's voice again, that Harry and him _will _one day be one of those couples embracing like there was no tomorrow.

_It's just a matter of time._

Along this line of thought, Draco could feel his emotions chug upwards gradually like a train. The blond would try on future visions of happiness _how would it feel like to wake up beside Harry every morning, how would it feel like to see him smile so disarmingly at you again, how would it feel like to fall asleep in his arms, with your ear pressed against his chest, because you know that he will never leave you- _like a little girl trying on dressing-up clothes. He was trapped in a frozen world of make-believe, where real life, horrible and raw, couldn't lay a finger on him. And Draco's face would melt into a dreamy smile whenever he thought of Harry's mouth, a rich strawberry pink, kissing his worries and fears away. The blond would then indulge in bouts of cautious euphoria, an aura of blissful happiness surrounding him like ectoplasm. He could stay like that for hours, maybe weeks, his feelings and emotions buoyed simply by mere memories of Harry.

Those were his good days.

But now, he no longer bothered to leave his flat at all, instead locking himself and corroding away in his little secluded hellhole, not choosing to speak to anyone, and muttering only monosyllabic answers to his heart-broken parents. He had been mentally limping away from the voices in his mind, trying to summon enough strength to walk, and he had walked until he could run, then run as hard and fast as he could ever since, but-

_You can't run from yourself, can you, Draco?_

He was afflicted with this one-sided love that was sustained by the fragile sieve of memories that he kept so dearly in his mind, holding it in his cupped hands. It provided some semblance of comfort that proved to Draco that _yes, Harry did love him-_

Draco fumbled into his room and yanked out the letter, that letter of _mushy drivel_ that Harry had sent to him during sixth year. The blond dissolved into a heap on the floor, his fingers smoothing out the tears and rips at the edges of the parchment, his wild, darting eyes greedily devouring each word-

_"After the war, we'll be together, I promise, I love you so much, Draco-"_

And then Draco would remember the way messy clumps of Harry's hair would fall over his forehead adoringly whenever he did his Potions assignments, the familiar, soft tinge of pink that stained his cheeks when Harry blushed, how sweet, how shy Harry looked whenever he bit his lip, the endearing way that Harry would always spill crumbs over his robes whenever he was buttering his bread during breakfast-

_If I drown tonight-_

_Will you save me tomorrow?_

Each memory about the brunette was prized and idolized, held gently and obsessively in Draco's cupped hands, each recollection letting Draco paper over the cracks of his soul, but now, they no longer seemed to work their redemptive magic anymore. The memories were slipping through his fingers like smoke, knocking teasingly and mockingly on every door of his empty apartment, whispering sweet nothings, murmuring empty promises-

_Why can't I remember the color of Harry's eyes, what color are they, how did it feel when he touched me, I can't recall, what was he wearing when he saved me from Fiendfyre, please, I **need** to know, I need to know before **they** come to get me, he still loves me, doesn't he? Doesn't he?!_

**How would it feel like to reign in hell, Draco love? **

And as each horrid thought unfurled like tapeworms in his brain, the love and hate roaring and pumping aggressively in his boiling blood, Draco felt like he was bent in two _hovering at death's door-_ like a marionette whose strings have been snipped. He was trapped at the bottom of a well, its sides_ impossible to get out, unless Harry, Harry, Harry-_ slippery and black, this emotional… gangrene, infecting, terrorizing, **rotting**, flowing like an oozing, poisonous wound with no antidote in sight, each sliver of his sanity vanishing like mist before the morning sun, each destructive thought like slimy, soggy maggots crawling out of the woodwork-

_once a tickle, now a rash, soon a _**_scourge-_ **

Each memory had turned fuzzy and cloudy, and everything that Draco thought he could hold onto was ripped out cruelly out of his hands. Every lovely moment that Harry and Draco had shared was darkened and soured by the voices that remorselessly occupied his oh-so-crowded mind. There was one day, one fateful day when it all seemed too much for him, and Draco had lay, slumped and numbed against the wall, a small, but deviously sharp knife held in his right hand, tracing _teasing, playing with-_ the delta of thin blue veins at the heel of his other hand-

**you'll be Death's favorite child, dancing burnt and bloodied in the shadows, your friends, your ****playmates ****waiting for you there, laughing and clapping their hands in the devil's playground, where they ****rape**** the willing and ****kill**** the innocent- **_shut up, shut up, you don't want to die, Draco_- **what's your life like now, Draco, do you like looking over your shoulder all the time, just in case dear, ****darling**** Harry's there, smiling that delicate, loving smile that you used to take for granted- **_Draco, Draco, Draco…_ **simply waiting for the guilt to rip your ****fucking**** soul apart, letting whatever sorrow that remains in your dead, shriveled heart leak away like a pierced balloon- **_he-loved-you…_ **I want you to bleedHURTscreechDIE right down to the very core of your broken bones, isn't it easier to give in, isn't it easier to plunge the blade in your veins and ****end**** it- **_remember how he kissed you, remember, can you-_ **you're left with nothing, Draco, nothing but memories that tauntTEARtwist your heart, your pathetic, splintered heart- **_remember how he always SMILEDnuzzledTOUCHEDyou-_ **you can sweep the tattered glass pieces of your heart under the rug of denial, but I know, Draco, I know that at the end of the day you'll come crying back into my arms, hoping for release, the bitter-sweet release of ****death****- **

And then his mind would reverberate with great hoots of mirth, Draco's hand shaking with a mixture of fury and fear as vice-like spasms of excruciating pain gripped him like a claw. He had felt the burning of incipient tears as he eyed the dagger defiantly, daring himself to-

_I will never pull the trigger-_

_But I've cried wolf a thousand times-_

Each screamed word had been like a slow blade turning in his stomach, but then he suddenly thought of his parents, his parents that shone like a shimmering beacon in his mind, giving him a last-minute reprieve-

**Do you think that you could spell precious Harry's name on the walls with your spurting ****blood**** when you slit your- **_Draco, you're bleeding!_

Snarling angrily to himself, Draco had immediately gotten up from the floor with his head held high and stalked over to the window, flinging the knife as hard as he could out of the house, out of his reach, out of _everything_-

And then Draco had crumpled to the floor, his body collapsing like a rag doll with all of its stuffing yanked out, his howls of grief rocketing to new levels as the blond sank back into wistful melancholia with a vengeance.

That was how Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy had found him that evening. Draco boasted shallow, thin, scabbed-over cuts on his arm while he laid, quite still, on the bathroom floor, his body as rigid as a board, eyes staring unseeingly up on the ceiling, his bloodless lips twitching as Draco sang his little song of death.

**love is the red that rose from your coffin- **

But he was still breathing, and to Narcissa and Lucius, that was _all that mattered_.

The next day, Draco realized that his parents had tossed out all the cutlery and knives in the apartment and replaced them with their disposable counterparts.

Every day brought about a fresh spell of fear that blossomed like a mushroom cloud while Draco valiantly clung onto his tiny shred of hope with the edge of his fingertips, but he was slipping, _balancing precariously on the edge of the crevasse, falling any second now_-. Draco cart-wheeled unpredictably from happiness to fury to sadness to loneliness, and he hated this encircling emotional and physical firewall that only Harry could break through, the pitiful sound of his desperate sobs echoing in the silence, engulfing him in his lonely, tiny flat.

_The sweetest, the fairest, and the most beautiful of them all-_

**How does it feel like, Draco, bleeding out on the floor? **

* * *

Sometimes Draco wondered how it felt like to wake up every morning with a smile on his face.

_you never tried-_

Hauling himself wearily out of bed, the blond drew back the curtains of his room, staring unblinkingly at the ashen-fingered dawn that greeted him outside. His sleep patterns were being disrupted now, he could survive on a mere three hours of sleep some days, and on other days, he demanded a full twelve hours of slumber. Draco gazed forlornly at the pewter grey sky, the unwavering shadows of the trees that swung gloomily, darkening forebodingly against the bleak backdrop of the sky.

Draco idly pondered what today would bring.

Rubbing his eyes dully, the blond dragged himself to the bathroom to perform his daily morning routine. Emerging minutes later, Draco yawned sluggishly, before fumbling over to the living room, his eyes still half-closed.

Harry Potter was sitting stiffly on his threadbare sofa in his own apartment, waiting for him.

Draco stared, slack-jawed. It had to be some sort of hallucination, some cruel dream that decided to jeer at him. _It's impossible, there's no way, no way-_ Draco quickly rubbed his eyes and blinked furiously.

He was still there.

The blond's stomach had done an incredulous swallow dive and was somewhere down at his knees now, his heart thumping an insane metronome against his rib-cage. Draco's limp fingers scrabbled wildly at the unyielding, immobile wall behind him, his horrified, wary eyes never leaving Harry.

The brunette kept his face carefully inscrutable, although his own heart was leaping erratically like a dancer with no sense of rhythm. He continued to gaze at Draco Malfoy, trying to ignore the crashing tidal wave of memories and pain that mercilessly assaulted him.

The Draco that Harry saw now was like a faded yellow-tinged shadow of the boy that Harry had loved and adored so long ago. Draco now had a fragile and brittle_ beautiful, but damned- _aura enveloping him, and he was so _thin_, so skeletal and frail that Harry was scared that if he approached, Draco would simply fall apart. The blond's skin was stretched taut over his sharp cheekbones, but his bone structure was as stunning as Harry had remembered. Harry sat there quietly, his palms resting primly on his thighs as he eyed the other boy narrowly.

Draco took a deep breath to marshal his racing thoughts. His hands were clenching and unclenching with agitation and confusion, and he bit his lip hard, trying to ignore the sudden attack of the voices warring for dominance in his mind, _trying to scrub away the ghost of you_-

**he's back for revenge, Draco, he knows he exerts full control over you, why would you want to numb the pain when it's just going to be worse in the long run- **_he's back, Draco, he came back for you-_ **he won't leave you tomorrow, or next week, or maybe next month, but one day, he will abandon you like a used toy after he's done playing, the exact same thing that ****you**** did in sixth year- **_can't you see he still loves you, don't you love him too_- **revenge, don't you love the way it sounds on your tongue, nothing but punishment and misery and ****power**** when you hiss it out loud? **

"Come to watch the freak show, Potter?" the blond spat out venomously, his upper lip curling in hostility, suspicion crawling over his skin like ants.

The microscopic slivers of compassion seeped out of Harry's eyes, and he fixed Draco with a level stare. Shrugging his shoulders casually, and tamping down the commotion in his mind, the brunette replied neutrally.

"I just came to see how you were doing."

"How _noble_! How _self-sacrificing_! Should I get down on my knees to thank you for your concern? Oh, or were you looking for an _apology_?" Draco parried acidly, his slate grey irises staring back coldly, almost challengingly. Harry's shoulders were set rigidly as he held Draco's contemptuous, wintry glare. Arching an eyebrow questioningly, the brunette aggressively took a step forward.

"For someone that's about to die-"

"Rubbing it in my face now, aren't you, Potter? Anything is better than living through the next few months. I'm _glad_ I'm going to die, Potter. In fact, I can't _wait_," Draco bit out _deathbed confessions_-, cutting Harry off in mid-sentence.

"You don't mean that," Harry riposted sharply, an imperceptible, glacial smile playing on his lips. "I know you don't." With that, the brunette crossed the distance between them with a few strides, until he was an arm length's away from Draco. The first-rate quality of Draco's sneer faltered, and he looked down furiously at his feet, his head bowed.

"Get out of my house," The blond's tone was flat, leeched of emotion as he began to inch away to the side, anxious to get away from Harry.

**run, run, run as fast as you can, because when you move he can't get you- **

Harry felt like grasping Draco's shoulders and shaking some sense into him. "You don't mean that too," he snorted derisively before he advanced ruthlessly on the shivering blond. Galvanized by action, Draco slid away urgently, his back pressed lightly on the wall as he tried to bolt for the kitchen-

But Harry was stronger and faster. Taking an assailing step towards Draco, the brunette hooked his hand around Draco's wrist and twirled him back into his arms, pushing the blond up against the wall. Lightning, sudden and irreversible, rippled across Draco's crackling nerve endings when Harry pressed the length of his body to Draco's. Draco couldn't help but shudder at the shock of Harry's touch _so foreign, but yet so familiar-_. Harry's breath was hot and welcoming, teasing and playing on Draco's neck.

The blond scrunched his face up and lifted his arms to push the brunette away, but Harry immediately latched his own hands on Draco's trembling wrists, slamming his arms down. Desire scythed across Draco's glistening flesh, and he helplessly felt his skin warming to Harry's touch, his pulse quickening, igniting _no one's touched me, no one at all-_ the whole of his being, suffusing and suffocating him like a drug overdose to the brain, enough to send his whole system haywire.

_his eyes are green, Draco, the most brilliant, the brightest, the most vivid green that you'll ever see-_

It was like moving onto dry land after frantically treading water for far too long. Draco had stitched his heart up and bandaged it up like a mummy, and that touch, that _touch_ from Harry was enough to break open the sutures that surrounded it so fiercely. Fresh pain exploded like a fireworks display, as though Draco had scratched a just-formed scab off a wound. The thread that was looped around his heart that kept him together, that thread that had been so frayed, pulled so taut, stretched to the very point of snapping, had suddenly melted, going all rickety and relaxed.

**so weak, Draco, so weak, skin on skin, nothing but a Gryffindor plaything- **

Draco suddenly leapt away from Harry like a frightened rabbit and crumpled down onto the floor, curling himself up into a trembling little ball of doubt. Bowing his head so that Harry could only see the whites of his eyes, Draco growled terrifyingly through stiff lips, each word precise and passionless.

"Fuck _off,_ Potter."

Harry froze, his lips pressed together into a thin line, drained of blood. His eyes raked Draco's shivering frame with a glittery gaze. Without a word, the brunette turned sharply on his heel and started to shuffle slowly away, his hands jammed deep into his pockets and his shoulders hunched.

Draco screwed his eyes shut _bury me here and forget about me-_ and sank his head in his hands. He felt the cold rush of sing-song voices increasing in intensity and agony, escalating swiftly like a fearsome, fire-breathing dragon rousing itself from slumber, embracing him like an unwanted, long-lost relative.

**I want to break your heart and give you mine, love is nothing but chaos of the highest order- **

_why did you let him go, why, why, why, he came back to you, only Harry can banish the voices, only Harry can-_

"H-Harry. C-come back. _Please_," Draco begged pathetically, his blood running cold and his face flushing hot. Draco's resistance had dissolved into fine dust; the teetering tower of pride and aloofness that he constructed so carefully around him was collapsing into shards at his feet. But that was enough, that was exactly what Harry had been waiting to hear.

_we're **broken **but I can't throw us away-_

In a flash, the brunette rushed back and hugged Draco, like a mother comforting her weeping child. Cradling the other boy possessively in his arms, Harry knelt in front of Draco and brushed his lips tenderly across the length of Draco's neck, down to the slender curve of his bony shoulder. The blond let out a faint sound, a cross between a sob and a sigh as he clutched at Harry tightly, not wanting to let go, not _daring_ to let go, because he was afraid that Harry would suddenly vanish like a ghost in the daylight, and then Draco's sky-high hopes would crumble, crumble all the way down to the murky bowels of hell-

"Did you… feel anything for me in the first place?" Harry murmured, his voice quivering like a leaf. His words were like lighting a match around pure dynamite. Draco urgently dislodged himself from Harry's grasp and scuttled back into his room. He quickly pulled out the letter from his drawer beside his bed and hurried back out.

_I need to show him, I need to let him know, I need to-_

Draco thrust the note into Harry's hands. Sitting beside him quietly like an obedient little puppy, the blond wordlessly watched the recognition register on Harry's face. The edges of the love letter that Harry had written to Draco in sixth year were frayed and worn from too much tender handling. The ink had faded like an old sepia photograph left too long in the sun, but Draco had continued to gaze at the letter every single day like a lovelorn fool, as the letter was the only piece of physical evidence that _Harry had once loved him-_

"You kept it. You kept it even before you revealed yourself to me," Harry whispered disbelievingly. Draco nodded silently, before sliding towards Harry, trying as hard as he could not to lose his composure. His fingers slowly skimmed the dusky, petal soft skin of Harry's perfect cheek, exploring old territory again. Balancing on his wobbly knees, he let his lips ghost over the side of the brunette's face, before planting a soft, delicate kiss on Harry's temple, _the very first show of affection Draco had showered on Harry._

A lock of black hair flopped over Harry's forehead, but before Harry could lift up a hand to push it back, Draco had rapidly swept it away without thinking. The blond's hand froze in mid-air as both boys stared at each other, both remembering that Draco always did that habitually when they were together-

"Why now?" Draco asked quietly.

Harry choked back a soft sob of his own. "I was so angry at you. When you left me, Voldemort did his best to dim every remaining memory that I had of you. It was… horrible, I had nightmares almost every night. And then I found out about the curse. I didn't want to bother because I thought that you deserved it. I wanted you to suffer for what you did, I wanted you to hurt as much as I did," Harry let out a hollow, dry laugh. "I tried to _pretend_ that I didn't care."

"But I can't do that, Draco. I can't, because…" Harry paused, tucking a finger under Draco's chin and forcing the other boy to meet his gaze.

"Because I _never stopped loving you with the pieces of my heart_."

The brunette wanted to smooth away the hurt on Draco's face, and he hesitated for a split second before lacing their fingers together. Harry knew how fickle and unstable the curse could be. But he didn't care, because Draco belonged to him, every single part of him-

_but oh my love, my love, we'll go down together-_

Harry's words had detonated an emotional landmine in Draco, and the blond had a sensation of a tightly coiled spring letting go violently and bouncing undone in his chest. He bit his wobbling bottom lip, struggling to quell unstoppable tears as he felt the emotions that he had been holding onto so tightly pouring out like a waterfall. The voices had subsided to mere murmurs now, faint whispers that Draco could block out oh-so-easily. He felt the hate floating, irrelevant, nothing but a footnote buried at the end of a long, complicated passage. Draco started to sob, his cries loud and choking, but he could hear the pure, unadulterated joy trying to break through-

_hold me thrill me kiss me kill me-_

_but please don't leave me-_

Draco swiped at his teary eyes with the back of his hand while he sniffled to a stop. And then, Harry dipped his head towards Draco, kissing _as sweet as a sugar-lipped kiss-_ the blond with tantalizing slowness, making Draco tingle all over. Both boys moaned when they felt the old magic come flooding back, rekindling bonfires throughout their bodies.

The wind was howling madly through the trees now, shovel-loads of gravel hurling dementedly at the glass. The rattling rain was flung almost horizontally past the windows, beating a thundering tattoo against the glass, bending the trees outside like springs. But Harry and Draco didn't care, the world could disintegrate into pieces, and it didn't matter _nothing mattered-_ as long as they had each other-

_you're the flickering flame that lights up my darkest hour-_

_you're why I get up in the morning-_

_you're the reason my heart beats-_

_you're in my blood my brain my **body**-_

Gently breaking the kiss, Draco felt the aching void in his heart melt away like mist. He directed a shy, apprehensive gaze up at Harry, feeling like a virgin, helpless and enthralled by the prospect ahead. With that simple look, Draco had conveyed a thousand unspoken, over-due apologies to Harry. The brunette's eyes crinkled up in a delighted smile as he lifted up his hands, using his thumbs to affectionately brush away the residual tears on the blond's cheeks, his soft green eyes searching Draco's face with an intensity that melted Draco's once-splintered soul.

Sliding a finger underneath Draco's unkempt fringe, Harry fondly smoothed back the other boy's beautiful blond hair slowly, like how a bridegroom would lovingly lift up the veil of his beloved bride. And as Draco fell into Harry's arms, he felt that the last missing piece of life's puzzle had finally dropped into place.

_Harry Potter is innately honorable._

_He is everything that I am not._

_And for that-_

_I love him._

* * *

**/fin **

**A/N: I solemnly swear that my next fic will be a happy one. **


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